The Lifeboat Men

Chapter 1: The man of the moment

“Tell you what, I’ll go ask her for you,” said Tom, setting his pint down on the table and getting to his feet. Foam spilled down his hand and he laughed as Adam caught hold of his elbow, eyes wide with fear. “Chill yourself out mate, I’m only joking.”

“Right,” said Adam, releasing his grip on Tom’s arm and shaking his head. “Seriously though, it’s impossible. She never bloody stands still. Jim wants to announce it tonight… he thought it would fit nicely into his retirement speech.”

“I bet he did… Hey, why don’t you let him ask her? He’d love that, and she wouldn’t be able to say no.”

“I hope that’s another joke. How many have you had?”

“What’s a joke?” Charlie appeared, setting a glass of what looked like orange juice down on a beer mat. His shirt was just a little too big, like his mum had bought it for him knowing he was going to fill out. He touched his gelled hair. Tom leaned forward and lowered his voice.

“Adam is supposed to have asked Jenny, you know, to marry him, so Jim can make father of the bride jokes in his speech tonight. Only he hasn’t got the balls.”

“Tom!” Adam rounded on him.

“What? Everyone already knows,” Tom shrugged. “Rosie was gabbing on about it in here last night.”

“Christ, really?”

“It’s true,” Charlie nodded. “Mum was saying how you were going to.”

“Shit, I mean I did ask Jim’s permission. Can you imagine what he’d have done if I hadn’t? I’d have thought he’d keep it to himself though.”

“Guess he thinks it’s a done deal,” Tom shrugged. “I mean it is, isn’t it? You guys have a house and a cat…”

“Does Jenny know?” Adam asked, dropping his head into his hands.

“Probably,” Tom patted his shoulder.

The Anchor was filling up now. On the other side of the pub Jenny was holding out her arms to take wet coats from people as they entered from the rain. She wore a knee length green dress and her loose dark hair was pinned up loosely at her neck. As well as the great and the good, people from the board of governors and town council, everyone who worked around the harbour had turned out. Fishermen, welders from the yard, friends and family of lifeboat crew. Jim knew everybody, or at least everybody knew him, he’d been coxswain at South Thornby independent lifeboat station for thirty years. To mark the end of his reign Jenny had transformed the seafront pub with nautical bunting, code flags and a huge cake in the shape of the Helena- Mary, orange and black fondant bursting out of a sea of buttercream. The man of the moment stood by her side, shaking hands as his guests dripped in.

“Do you think he looks happy?” Tom ventured.

“Would you be?” said Adam. “Bet Carol’s got thirty years’ worth of jobs she’s been saving up for him.”

“Can you imagine Jim gardening or putting up shelves?”

“Can you imagine Jim doing anything else?”

Tom was the first to spot Rosie when she burst through the double doors gasping for breath. Her normally buoyant curls hung in damp strands around her shoulders as she stood on tiptoe holding her arm above her head, eyes searching the room. She was dressed in oilskins and sailing boots like many of those who had arrived out of the summer storm but, unlike them, she showed no sign of taking them off. Tom altered course towards her.

“Tom,” Rosie exclaimed, “are you sober?”

“I’ve had two or three.”

“Damn, we’ve got a shout. Where’s Pete and the others? None of you have responded to your pagers, can you not hear them? It’s so loud in here.”

“Bugger, mine’s in my coat,” Tom said patting at his belt. “What’s happened?”

“It’s the Provident,” Rosie told him, “she’s called a Mayday just off the headland.”

Tom put his fingers to his mouth and wolf-whistled cutting through the general drone of voices. He waved at the table where Adam and Charlie sat, and spotted Pete, the lifeboats engineer, already heading towards them.

“What’s up boys?” barked Jim, joining the group forming around Rosie. Tom noticed that, for once, she didn’t complain.

“We need to hurry got a call out,” she explained. “It’s the Provident, but we’ve got it covered. There’s me, Pete, Tom, and Charlie…that’s four…and of course the new coxswain’s down at the station.”

“Bullshit, she can take seven...hold on, I’ll just tell the wife where I’m going.”

“There’s no need Jim,” Rosie insisted.

“She’s still my boat, at least until midnight.”

Rosie set out into the rain at a jog and Tom followed, feeling the tingle of adrenaline in his fingertips. Probably Jim was loving this. Called out of his own party for one last shout. He’d get to change out of that stuffy suit and walk back in in an hour, windswept with salt in his beard and ammunition for his leaving speech. Adam would happy too, he’d got his distraction. The wind, laden with water, struck with force as the crew tumbled out onto the promenade. The tide was half way out and in-front of them lay the beach and the grey sea. The horizon was a dark line below a dramatic skyscape streaked with scarlet, orange and blue. Summer nights like this could be deceptive. The wind blows just as hard when it’s warm.

Tom’s foot caught on a paving slab and he tripped. He regained his balance at the edge of the road and pausing to look for traffic. He crossed to the other side where a railing separated the promenade from the sand below. Neck bent forward, he turned right and made his way along the shorefront past Al’s yard, the harbour and the outer breakwater. The weather had brought a premature gloom to the evening through which the lights from the boathouse windows were a beacon to follow. It crouched on the shore just beyond the harbour, it’s slipway extending out over the rocks and into the open sea. A figure, silhouetted in the doorway, watched their progress.

Entering the boathouse at a run and collided with Pete’s back. Wondering what everyone had stopped for, he pushed past the engineer, tripped again, and collided with the table that stood in the centre of the boathouse common room. Pain shot through his shin and he swore, rubbing at his leg and catching hold of a chair.

“I’m glad you didn’t get that drink now,” said Charlie as he disappeared into the changing rooms.

“How many have you had?” said a serious voice. The new coxswain, Matthew, stood next to the double doors that led through to the slipway. He was already dressed in yellow and black oilskins, his lifejacket on and his collar pulled up high so that only his eyes and the tip of his nose were visible.

“Hardly any,” Tom protested. “Seriously, I’m fine, I just tripped beside that rains enough to sober anyone up.” He laughed weakly, knowing he’d said the wrong thing. “I’m fine. Seriously I’m fine,” he repeated.

“I can’t take you if you’re drunk, the rest of you suit up.”

“What?” Tom turned to Jim, arms raised in protest, as if appealing to a higher power. “I’m fine. Jim tell him.”

“I’m afraid I’m coxswain tonight,” said Matthew firmly, “and I won’t take you, though I’m sorry about it. I could have used your help.”

Jim’s eyes narrowed but he shrugged. “You heard the new boss. It’s his decision.”

“It is,” Matthew confirmed.

“For fucks sake,” Tom slumped down into a chair. There was no point complaining to Pete, he’d side with Jim and neither of them would listen to Rosie. They all just stood there, and for a few seconds it seemed as if everyone had forgotten what they were meant to be doing. Then Charlie reappeared.

“Errr, shouldn’t we be getting ready?” he asked.

Everyone except Tom began to move. Bodies disappearing under helmets, sallopettes, jackets, gloves and waterproof clothing. Frustrated, he stood up and paced as they disappeared one by one through the sliding door that lead to the top of the slipway. Then he stood, arms folded, and watched the boat launch without him.

Too embarrassed to go back to the Anchor, Tom lingered. There was a radio in Jim’s office, a small room adjacent to the slipway with a large window that looked out to sea. The door was propped against the wall and a few shards of wood still lay on the carpet. Had Jim noticed? Tom stepped inside and sat down on one of the two swivel chairs at Jim’s desk, now Matthews desk. The wooden surface was covered in a laminated chart of the bay and a photograph of the Helena-Mary on her launch day sat upright in a frame. Tom pushed the picture aside and switched on the VHF radio, adjusting the volume and squelch to remove background noise. Matthews unfamiliar voice sounded on channel sixteen in conversation with the co-ordinating coastguard. As he listened the door of the boathouse opened and Adam appeared beside him.

“Tom? I thought you were out on the boat?” he said pulling up a chair beside him.

“The new boy think’s I’m too drunk,” Tom pulled a face to show what he thought of that decision. “How’s everyone doing up in the pub?”

“Jenny’s annoyed, she thinks the buffet will be ruined, but no one else seems to mind. They’ll all be pissed as farts by the time the crew get back. What’s going on out there?”

“Listen.”

They sat side by side listening to the coastguard and the voice of Matthew, occasionally replaced by the more familiar voice of Jim. As they spoke Tom imagined what must be going on aboard the Helena-Mary. The rolling south-westerly sea that would worsen nearer the Swellies where the land shallowed. With the throttle down they’d have covered the five miles in just over ten minutes and now they’d be standing off the headland. Tom drummed his fingers in frustration and glanced sideways. This was how Adam must feel like this all the time.

Since landing the job as Harbourmaster, he hadn’t been able to join the crew on the lifeboat but Tom knew he listened on the radio in his office, or in the boathouse, just in case he could be of any help on shore. Since this was a Mayday, and since the boat was the Provident, there would be other people listening too. People on the fishing boats and in the houses that overlooked the harbour often had a radio in the window tuned to channel 16.

“It sounds like they’ve given up on the pumps and they’re getting all the crew off now,” whispered Adam as the radio crackled with the voices of Matthew and Ed, the skipper of the Provident.

“They’re only 5 miles away, surely they can tow her that far?”

“At least she’ll be salvageable if she goes down, it’s not too deep…”

“Still, to let her sink with the whole town watching…” Tom peered out of the wind but could see little through the streaks of rain. “We should even be able to see her. Maybe not from in here but from the top of the breakwater. I’m going to have a look.”

He raced outside pulling his jacket on and retraced his steps back along the shore. The breakwater loomed, an L-shaped stone wall near five metres tall. The seaward side sloped away, reinforced with jagged blocks of concrete, whilst the inner face was near vertical until it met a wide flat quay that ran along its entire length. The western arm, extended out towards the open sea before turning through an angle of ninety degrees and throwing its protective southern arm around the harbour. A shorter and lower wall extruded from the beach almost completing the square but for a narrow entrance sentried by two stone towers. Atop of the whole structure ran a walkway that ended in a viewing point at larger southern tower and the statue of the fishwife looking out to sea.

Tom ducked behind the harbourmasters office where crude steps were cut into the stone wall. They were slippery in wet weather but, with the help of iron staples fixed into the rock, he reached the top. Wishing he had binoculars, he searched the bay and eventually fixed on the navigation lights of the two vessels moving about each other as if in a dance. The lifeboat was constantly changing aspect its lights alternated from red to green to white as it circled. His head pounded, there was stress in watching an emergency from a distance, unable to help.

The rain eased a little now and the visibility improved, leaving the bay a pale grey and the boats in the distance black. They were steady now, holding station in relation to each other. He could make out the two masts of the sailing boat, the Provident, and the smaller shape of the Helena Mary. Briefly, the sky cleared above them, a patch of white appearing in the grey cloud. Tom stared, gripping the cold metal of the safety railing unable to look away even for a second. Transfixed, he saw the exact moment that the Provident went down.

She was beam on to the swell, having presumably lost all steerage, and, with each wave, she rolled and her angle of heel increased. The silhouettes of her two tall masts came and went against the skyline until, leant over too far they failed to reappear. The boat teetered, almost flat on its side, her bulwarks under the water. Tom held his breath, waiting for her to swing back upright again, but, after lying horizontal but balanced for a few seconds, she simply carried on turning.

“She’s over. Adam, she’s over,” he yelled into the wind. “The Provident’s down.” He was surprised by the panic in his own voice. He’d never seen a ship of her size sink before and even at this distance was struck by the horror of it. He could only imagine the ‘glug, glug’ as the last pockets of air escaped, the crash of ballast as loose items slid up the sides of the hull and onto the ceiling forcing the boat down more quickly. The flood of seawater into bunks and living spaces. He had sailed on that boat as a teenager, most of the town had. She was their boat. Of course Adam couldn’t hear him but he must be listening. What were they saying on the radio?

Tom scrambled back along the breakwater, clinging to the rail for support and then down the steps. His feet splashed in puddles as he made for the boathouse. Behind him, he was vaguely aware of people gathered outside the Anchor also looking out into the bay. He thrust open the boathouse door and crossed the distance to Jim’s office in three strides. Adam turned in his seat and put a finger to his lips, leaning closer in to the radio speaker to catch every word.

“They’re sending the helicopter,” Adam whispered. “There’s someone in the water.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know? They never say do they, they just call them the casualty.”

“I mean one of us or one of them?”

“Does it matter? It’s the Provident, so we’ll know most of them anyway. Charlie definitely will, they’re kids from his school.”

Tom could feel the frustration building again, he should be out there. He had never felt so sober. Unable to sit still, he tapped his long legs on the floor and then, leaving Adam by the radio, he slipped out again. This time instead of climbing the breakwater he walked away from the shore, up to the level of the promenade to join the crowd outside the Anchor. From here he saw the helicopter round the headland and direct its blinding searchlight at the sea around the Helena-Mary.

Tom, who knew the man over-board manoeuvres well found himself second guessing the boats movements. It was all taking too long. The sea state wasn’t that rough, not compared to what they were used to. They had practiced and practiced pulling people from the water. Were Rosie and Charlie struggling without him? Was it the new coxswain, not used to the boat? Surely if this was the case then Jim would take the helm. The helicopter was hovering low, training its searchlight on a single spot on the black sea. There was no winchman being lowered, it looked like the lifeboat was managing the rescue.

Pulling someone out of the sea was always more difficult in the dark and the risk of losing sight of the casualty among the waves very real. Charlie would be thrilled, this would be his first ‘real’ rescue. Everyone agreed that the lifeboats bread and butter work, towing in boats from the Swellies, didn’t really count.

Eventually the lifeboat and the helicopter broke away from each other. Whatever had happened, the incident looked like it was over. He saw a flash of light from the boathouse as the door opened and Adam emerged. Tom ran to meet him, full of questions but he was waved into silence again. Adam was talking on his mobile phone.

“Of course,” he said loudly, cupping his hand around the phone to reduce the noise of the wind. “I’ll make sure the berth outside my office is free and stand by to take lines.” He began to walk briskly and Tom fell into step beside him.

“I was starting to get really worried when the helicopter launched,” Tom began, turning to Adam with a smile and shaking the tension out of his shoulders. Then he paused, noticing his friend’s expression. Adam wasn’t celebrating. “What’s the matter?”

“Tom, you didn’t hear did you? I’m not sure everything is ok.”