Noose (6 page)

The scrapbook contained nothing else, and several pages at the end remained empty. It had seemed a waste to Ian. His father should have torn out pictures of film stars from magazines, or sportsmen, and filled up the rest. But Ian knew his father could be crafty. Perhaps he'd be afraid some people might be more interested in those later pages than in the ones about him.
By putting only stuff in the scrapbook concerning the rescue, Mr Charteris greatly helped anyone looking at the pages to think only about those events and him. There were times when his father didn't mind helping others, especially to discover great things about him.

Because of time, some of the cuttings had begun to turn yellowy and the glue underneath browny, so several of the words were not easy to read because this browniness came through and stained the print lines. Ian thought of the browniness of the sea where the trouble occurred, making it hard to find anyone under the surface, different from a swimming bath. Many factories and mines tipped works waste into the Ely and Taff rivers, which carried it to the Channel. And there was sewage. Penarth was a holiday place, although the sea looked so dirty. People didn't seem to care. They swam there. But they'd just be swimming to get a swim, not looking for a sunk body between two paddlers.

Ian had realized at the time, of course, that this accident was important for South Wales newspapers, taking up many pages where they described events, and also giving Inquiry reports. In the cuttings on the scrapbook's first pages there were pictures as well as the words, though only pictures of the two ships. But the cuttings on later pages came from newspapers two days later, when there had been time to arrange things. These contained a photograph of his father and Emily Bass standing at the exact place on deck she'd been flung from, and which he'd dived from.

His father had on the uniform crew wore – dark trousers and a navy or black jersey with ‘Masthead Fleet' written across it in white, and a black hat with a small peak, like a tam, that wouldn't be blown off in gales. Emily Bass's fair hair was in a bun on top of her head, and she wore a summer dress decorated with flowers. But Ian knew that at the time of the accident she had on a warm coat, because the boat trip could be breezy, or even really windy. The coat plus her other clothes would get very heavy in the sea. Ian thought she looked quite a clever, adventurous sort of woman, maybe the kind who would climb up foolishly towards the deck safety rail and scream teasingly at another ship going at twenty-one knots.

In the picture, Emily Bass and his father both seemed serious, staring straight at the camera, the deck rail behind them. This seriousness was what came to people who'd been in the water for not just an ordinary swim but because of a bad and very foolish mistake, especially a girl or woman. But, of course, enthusiasms and excitements could take hold of people and make them behave out of the usual – out of the usual for themselves, not just out of the usual, especially if they were usually adventurous.

One page in the scrapbook also had a picture of Captain Corbitty, but it had been taken previously, perhaps when he first arrived from deep sea to command
Channel Explorer.
He was in his officer's uniform and cap and stood on the starboard wing of the
Explorer
's
bridge, gazing forward. Perhaps at that time he'd been taking the ship full speed ahead and feeling pretty proud.

What Ian thought of as the main cutting from the
Western Mail
came earlier:

TRAGEDY AT SOUTH WALES RESORT

– Respected paddle steamer captain drowned

– Young woman saved

– Great bravery of crew member

The well-known captain of a Bristol Channel paddle steamer was drowned yesterday when courageously attempting to rescue a young woman who had fallen from a ship into the sea. She survived, saved by another sailor.

The tragedy happened at Penarth, one of South Wales' best-loved resorts. Two paddle steamers were involved –
King
Arthur,
of the Masthead fleet, and
Channel
Explorer,
an Ocean Quest vessel. The ships were close to each other, near Penarth pier waiting to pick up and land passengers.

Captain Lionel Corbitty of the
Channel
Explorer
apparently saw the woman passenger fall from the deck of the
King
Arthur,
having climbed to a dangerous position on the deck rail. Captain Corbitty dived in from the bridge wing of his ship to try to save her. It is believed that while attempting to locate her under water he struck the hull of the
King
Arthur
and was concussed prior to drowning. A member of the
King
Arthur
crew also dived in and managed to locate the woman and bring her to shore where she was given first aid and recovered.

The body of Captain Corbitty was found by coastguards half a mile out into the Channel two hours later, having been carried by the notoriously strong Bristol Channel tide. They gave artificial respiration in their boat and later on Penarth beach, but Captain Corbitty did not respond and was declared dead by a doctor just after midday. The rescued young woman was Emily Bass, aged 23, of Marlborough Road, Cardiff. She and a party of relatives and friends were enjoying a trip to Ilfracombe to mark the birthday of her mother, Mrs Doris Bass, also of Marlborough Road, Cardiff.

Emily Bass's rescuer was Laurence Charteris, 38, married with a young son, a crew member of the King Arthur, of Hunter Street, Cardiff. Passengers from each ship praised his courage and life-saving skills yesterday. Both vessels continued their voyages to cross-Channel resorts after a considerable delay. Speaking aboard the
King
Arthur
when she returned to Newport last night Laurence Charteris said: ‘The young woman had disappeared beneath the surface but I knew where she'd gone under. I dived and hoped to find her, although the sea was murky.

‘I think Emily had been pulled under by the
King
Arthur
righting herself after she had listed slightly to one side while manoeuvring towards the landing stage. The sea was sucked in beneath the side of the ship, and then rushed back again. This must have swept Emily free and I caught a glimpse of her face at a depth for one second. I knew I must act quickly before she sank further and became lost to sight. I reached out and was able to grab her coat and keep hold. I brought her to the surface, then used the life-saving stroke to take her to the
King Arthur
stern dinghy, which had been emergency launched in accordance with standard practice for someone overboard.

‘Crew in the dinghy lifted her from the sea and applied artificial respiration, successfully, thank heavens. I swam back to look for Captain Corbitty between the two ships. I had seen him about to dive or jump into the sea just before I did. I feared he might have realized Emily would be pulled
under the
King
Arthur
and had gone to her aid, but found himself pulled under, also, and not released. I believe this is what happened. It is a tragic loss. He will be greatly missed by his family and by all who knew him around the Channel.'

The final cutting in the scrapbook reported parts of the Inquiry. The chairman said about Ian's father:

‘This crew member of the
King
Arthur
put the safety of a passenger above considerations for his own, personal safety. His action was in the great tradition of bravery at sea – the acceptance of risk for the sake of others. Captain Corbitty of the
Channel
Explorer
showed this same courage, this same respect for the traditions of the sea worldwide. Tragically, it cost him his life.'

In the last paragraph of this cutting, Captain Dominal made his denial that the ships had been racing. He said:

‘This idea is unthinkable. It was a terrible accident caused by a combination of unfortunate factors. The pleasure steamer service of the Bristol Channel has lost an excellent officer.'

A couple of years after this, Ian's father said there would be a ceremony to unveil a memorial to Captain Corbitty, and that Ian could come with him to see the event, if he liked. His father would be invited, of course, because he had done a lot to make the accident not as bad as it could have been, although still bad. Ian said, yes, he'd like to go, but he worried because his father's voice didn't sound good when he spoke of the ceremony, sort of making fun of it. He often made fun of what other people were up to, as though he found them rather stupid, or not as sensible as himself, anyway. Ian used to think there
might
be people not as sensible as his father, but he hadn't met very many. Most probably it would anger his father if someone got a lot of fuss and a memorial. He didn't like others getting a lot of fuss, even though dead, as was evidently necessary for a memorial. People still alive never had memorials. They didn't have to be remembered. They were here.

Ian's mother had said she would not be going to the memorial ceremony. Much later, of course, he realized why she wouldn't attend. At the time he thought it was simply because Ian's father could behave in a ratty, difficult way when there was a crowd. Ian had sometimes seen how ratty his father's rattiness might get – his eyes gone very narrow through rattiness, and no blinking, just a ratty gaze. But Ian felt he ought to say, ‘Yes, Dad, thanks,' when his father invited him, because Mr Charteris probably thought he was being kind and he'd be hurt if Ian refused. That would look as if he'd hate to be present in case his father did something in his own ratty way to ruin things. Perhaps Mr Charteris would behave all right. He might tell himself that the Corbitty family and the council had obviously thought very carefully for a long while about the idea of a memorial, and it would be cruel to kick their special day to bits. Yes, one side of Mr Charteris might tell himself this, but would the other side – the ratty side – be listening?

A crowd of about thirty had gathered by the time he and Ian arrived. ‘And here's Emily,' Mr Charteris cried. ‘Married now, I hear, but invited, naturally, and still Emily Bass to my mind.' Ian thought his father looked really pleased and all right, as he greeted her. ‘Emily, this is my son, Ian, who loves tales of the sea.'

She was small, pale, pretty, still shy looking, still clever looking, her fair hair cut short now. She said: ‘Isn't this a lovely idea, Ian? I feel so special – a ship's master sacrificed himself for me. For me. I will always feel such gratitude and respect for that name, Corbitty. Also, of course, for your father.'

Ian saw strong rattiness begin to take over parts of his father's face, most parts, which was usual for full rattiness. He stared at her. His stare had no blinks. He would not like being mentioned second, after Corbitty. He remarked to Emily: ‘Yes, a great man, Captain Corbitty.'

‘Certainly,' she said.

‘I got you out, you know,' Ian's father replied.

She said: ‘Often I speak to my husband and my friends of the undaunted captain who flung himself into the dark, dark sea in a valiant though doomed effort to save me, while also mentioning your father, Ian, naturally. It's really fairly unusual to have a distinguished man die for you, isn't it? Off came his cap with gold braid on it, I believe. Oh, such an occasion then, and such an occasion now.'

‘I got you out, you know,' Mr Charteris remarked again. ‘Many a newspaper cutting I have at home describing this, haven't I, Ian?'

‘Many,' Ian said.

The memorial to Captain Corbitty was an inscribed flagstone cemented into the pavement right at the entrance to Penarth pier. Ian's father carried a very good wreath of roses and greenery. He was the kind who would consider it a duty to spend quite a lot on a wreath, so it would not look cheap against anyone else's. And a wreath meant somebody was dead and wouldn't be a pest around the place any longer, so the flowers should be regarded as a kind of giggle. At first, he held the wreath in one hand low down by his side. Ian thought it was best like that because flowers didn't really go with his father's kind of face, or not fresh flowers anyway.

Although the Captain was buried ashore, people attending the ceremony had been asked to bring a wreath if they could, and, at the end of the little ceremony, to cast it on to the waves from the end of the pier, showing respect and sadness, because, of course, the accident had happened in the sea. Ian thought his father looked quite all right with the wreath, as though he often carried wreaths and kept them down by his side. Mr Charteris got some true grief and regret into his face, and into the slow, sort of heavy, solemn style he walked on the pier, which seemed to show that sorrow had taken a lot of his energy, with only a small amount left for moving about and carrying the wreath. Ian felt frightened by this big show of pangs. He guessed his father had something really rotten ready to spoil the do.

The tide was up. A square piece of blue curtain hid the memorial at first. Ian watched the vicar in charge today bend now and uncover it, with a big, important swirl of his arm. Ian could read quite well by now and saw what the inscription said: ‘Captain Lionel Corbitty died near here in August 1934 while selflessly trying to rescue a young woman from drowning. His family wholeheartedly remember a very gallant sailor and gentleman.'

The dog-collar man made a short speech saying how pleased he was that the Corbitty family had decided to commission this stone, and that the local council had agreed it should be laid there. All those coming on to the pier would be bound to see underfoot the commemorative message. Particularly he hoped youngsters would observe it, then ask their parents to tell them more about the very brave, self-sacrificing man.

‘And, speaking of youngsters,' he said, ‘I think it would be a grand idea if to conclude matters now it were the children present who cast the wreaths out on to the waves, symbolizing the link between a noble past and their own beckoning future.'