Not the Same Sky (10 page)

‘You won’t do it again,’ Charles said. The tone of the words gave the man some ease and he got his apology polished. The next day, happily back at work, he was most helpful in the landing and gutting of a shark. Out here at sea all kind of things reaped their own rewards. They would have the shark for dinner. There had been little variety of food, so this would be useful for the relief of all their palates.

Thus they sailed, bobbing their way across the Tropic of Cancer, out of sight of Senegal and Sierra Leone and Gabon. Charles imagined these places on deck at night because that’s what would have been close if they’d been going south straight along the west of Africa. Sometimes he longed to see a light that was not that of another ship.

The dancing nights were now well organised. On the first night there had been a bit of consternation.

‘We have no boys to whistle,’ Anne Sherry said.

‘Can none of us do it?’ Honora asked. ‘How do you do it?’ She puckered her lips and blew but no sound came out.

‘We’re not supposed to whistle, we’re girls,’ Anne Sherry said.

‘Why’s that?’ Honora asked, never having heard this before.

‘A whistling woman and a crowing hen, are neither fit for God nor men,’ Julia said, and laughed out a huge gleeful sound.

‘It gets you into trouble, so I’d better do it then,’ she added.

She pursed her lips, blew out a few melodic notes, straightened her back, fluttered her tongue and flew into a piercing sweet sound that echoed through the ropes. The sails slapped to it.

But then a sailor’s voice was heard shouting, ‘No whistling on a boat. Do yiz not know that, calls up a storm. And anyway, a girl could get a beard whistling.’

This brought much laughter from everyone except from Julia, who said, ‘God yiz would believe anything.’

Honora stuttered into a lilt, and more girls joined in. Many of them could do it well, some better than others, and from this night on they were often dry mouthed by the time the evening was over. In the beginning some girls had stood at the edges while the better dancers, the girls maybe one year older who had been to a dance at home, took the centre of the floor. Or a girl might sit and watch because that was what she wanted to do—to be riveted by someone else’s movement. But gradually most girls filtered in, seduced by the joy that came of its own accord when you learned to let your feet and shoulders move to the sound of notes. And a girl might learn for the first time, if she was one of the very young ones, that once her feet and shoulders were in time with the lilting, an entire flash of heat could radiate out from a small spot near where her heart was, and she could be overtaken with a throatful of joy. What would God have thought if he could have seen a ship like this at night, flapping sails, the light dipping as lanterns swayed, the sound of voices making music and the sight of girls with long dresses dancing, tripping their steps into each other’s.

It was the day after a dance that they met the
Duke of Bedford
. It was always an exciting time, seeing a ship that seemed to be making straight for them. The girls liked to watch the approach, the sails waving towards them, getting closer and closer. They would stare at the distance getting smaller and wonder where the boat was from and where it was going. The crew would not do this, being used to the notion of ships on the sea, but they did not interrupt the staring, there was something entirely private and perhaps sacred about every girl’s looking. The boat pulled close and the two captains spoke through a trumpet. Not everyone could hear what they said because the wind and the swish of the sails cut up the sounds. The girls stayed quiet to see what they could pick up, they could check with each other later and put the bits together and maybe come up with something that mattered. They were stopping longer this time, their captain boarding the other boat.

‘Oh look at that, I hope he doesn’t fall.’

He went on board for dinner, as was the ritual when time and conditions permitted. The last ship they had met had come past them in the wind and no one had stopped. They had simply shouted greetings and a man on the other ship had held up a baby.

‘Look, it’s a baby,’ they cried.

‘We speak the ship, did you know that, we do not speak
to
the ship,’ Anne Sherry said. Her English was getting better and better the teacher said. But even people whose English was very good might not know that, you had to be at sea for a long time to learn some things.

The captain returned from the dinner with presents: two sheep, a pig and a dozen fowls. Their palates would be truly spoiled now. He also had a newspaper, which could be taken to the classes when he was finished with it. It was while the boat was still at a lull, while the creaking and lapping of the two vessels were married, that Charles gathered some girls near him and told them about the changing of the stars. They would see it soon, maybe tomorrow night, if the sky was very clear.

The fuss of the other ship was a welcome distraction, and Charles was glad to have his letters taken from him on their way, particularly the letter to his mother. He watched the ship disappearing, bearing his news that would arrive in Italy, where the sunlight was even.

On the following morning Charles wondered if it had been wise of him to mention the stars, there seemed to be an air of consternation about, among the younger ones especially. He wouldn’t have done so if they had not been lapping beside another boat. One had to think carefully about what information one imparted, but a moment of rest, or the togetherness of boats, could put the tongue off guard. Oh well, he would just have to make sure he explained it properly and comfortingly. He would use the map to illustrate. They would examine it today, find their latitude and longitude and then tonight, after dancing, anyone who wanted to could stay on deck with him to read the sky.

‘Are you staying?’ Honora asked Julia.

‘Might as well, might tell us something we’ll need to know. What do you think?’ and she laughed out loud. ‘What do you think, Honora?’

It was a clear night. Perfect for seeing the northern stars fade away and the southern stars rise into view. Charles pointed to what was the familiar and the girls stared in awe as they saw the change. Although in truth, some of them were pretending in order to keep Charles happy. They did not know their own sky well, certainly not as well as he did. Surprisingly, it was Anne Sherry who was most moved. Surprisingly, because she was generally most in control of her thoughts and emotions.

‘Imagine. Even the stars won’t be the same,’ she said. ‘It’s like leaving again.’

‘Don’t be silly, we’ve already left. You can only leave once,’ Julia said.

This was what Charles had wanted to avoid. He hurried them below. After they had settled, when the last noises seemed to be over, he walked back on deck and had another look at the beautiful stars by himself. Yes, he could imagine travellers addressing them, those who thought they would never see them again. And he could imagine how possessive one could become about your stars only when you were leaving them. He went down below. He could hear a girl crying, but that was not unusual. Most nights there was at least one. The girls had a way of letting her cry for some time before someone would go to her. Indeed, those closest whispered over the sobs for a while before providing comfort for whatever sadness had overcome her. He heard the whispers.

‘Why’s she crying? She doesn’t usually.’

‘She says that even the stars will be different.’

‘Oh, what the hell difference does that make. Everything will be different.’

‘Still, I’d better go over to her. She’s only young.’

‘What age are you?’

‘Sixteen.’

‘Oh.’

Charles walked away. Maybe he could write more letters. Perhaps they would meet another ship on its way back.

CHAPTER 12

On the following day Charles let the girls know about the equator ceremonies. Perhaps telling them about the stars had been too much, but they would definitely need to be forewarned about the equator carry-ons. He unfurled the map again—the girls seemed surprised that they were so far down. They had travelled unfathomable miles and were still going. They felt tired just thinking of it. The sun was now so close it could almost be touched. The girls put both their hands in front of their eyes when they came up in the mornings to stop themselves from being blinded. The few thin clouds in the sky seemed to be in an almighty hurry, casting only a momentary shadow, as if they were dancing past the light.

Charles showed them exactly what their latitude and longitude was.

‘That’s not bad,’ one of them said.

But Anne Sherry still looked at where Australia was, he could see her out of the corner of his eye, her gaze fixed on it. Although surprise for non-seagoing people is part of the joy of equator ceremonies, in this instance, he thought it best to give them a little information, partly because the act of looking forward was good for them, and also because he did not want them to be frightened in any way. He was still at times taken aback when he realised again their ages, and last night had reminded him of this.

It was a very hot afternoon, as one would expect, when a sailor shouted, ‘Now!’ and simultaneously a trumpet bellowed out its noise. There was a sudden shouting and bustle from all directions, members of the crew enthusiastically throwing themselves into their production, as much for themselves as for their passengers. Some of the young or nervous girls clutched the hands of others, unsure of what was happening, unprepared for the make-believe. Dressed up people were also coming over the side—Neptune and Amphitrite, the constables and the barber, all boarded the ship.

‘From where?’ some girls shrieked. ‘Where did they come from?’

The visitors approached individual girls and asked them questions. The girls stared at first, then tried to get an answer out as they realised what the game was. If the answer was not correct the girl was ducked in a large tub. It was hard for Charles to tell if a girl wanted to be ducked or not—if she was shy or afraid, or if there might be a feminine reason for her shouts of ‘No, no, no’. But all in all, he thought the celebrations had been enjoyed by all. There was a general sense of lightness and smiles on faces. It resembled a visit to any of the best theatres.

The crew then hoisted a lit tar barrel over the side and everyone—crew, girls, captain, Charles, Matron, sub matrons—watched for miles as it floated and burned its way into the heat that surrounded it. Charles allowed the girls to stay up later than normal that evening, to see the last flame of it in the instant darkness.

As the tired girls made their ways to their sleeping quarters, he overheard some of the voices.

‘She said that was a story for the equator. She said her father carried stories. How could you carry stories? And she says that she’s going to do that too, always going to carry them. No matter where she ends up.’

In the dark he couldn’t make out who had said it.

‘My mother and father are dead.’

‘Mine too.’

‘But someone said we can get married when we get there if we want. I can’t remember when I heard that, if it was before we left home or not. Maybe it was when we got on this boat.’

‘Get married! Wouldn’t that be funny.’

Mercifully, the days began to cool a little as they moved away from the line of zero degrees. Out there at night Charles thought of the names of African countries. He knew the coast well. It seemed better to think of it than this long stretch of water. And there was talk now of steamers, who would go that way, stop for coal in Cape Verde and Cape Town. The passengers would maybe see coasts occasionally, would get off at some ports and put land under their feet. There was talk of it and, although some said it was not possible, others pointed to how new and great things were being made every day. Things were changing in leaps and bounds. Charles thought he might like that, being on a steamer down the coast of Africa.

Charles was at his desk when a sub matron came running to tell him that Mrs Johnstone had gone into labour. He had noticed her almost due on the last day the boxes had been hoisted up on deck. He had suspected this would happen, that she was closer to her time than he had been told at Plymouth. Her face was bronze and set in dreaminess as their boxes were hoisted up on deck. She showed no interest in what was in her family’s box, but watched attentively as her husband did the necessary checking, airing and replacing. Honora Raftery had got her a chair on which to sit, her solicitousness suggested that she too sensed a coming event. Charles thought maybe this would bring her good in her own life. Mrs Johnstone asked for one picture to be kept out, a black framed drawing of a stern-bonneted woman, her mother, Charles presumed, and allowed her to keep it with her. He did not like birth at sea. Yes, the luck it could bring tempted hope, but many things could go wrong. He hoped for a short labour and one that would not be too wicked.

The birth went as smoothly as even a land birth can go. Charles suggested to Matron that she ask Honora to help with minor tasks that might come up. It seemed right to ask her for assistance.

‘But keep her on the outside of things.’

He needed the sub matrons to be extra vigilant on deck, the hint of the occasion could otherwise lead to breaks of discipline that might have unhappy consequences, so he felt it would be better to ask one of the more mature girls to assist. The matter seemed to be proceeding well—although in truth it was hard to tell whether the experience was worsened by virtue of being at sea, only Mrs Johnstone could say for sure, and she wasn’t talking at the moment. There was heaving and moans and short cries, but all in all it was a well conducted, uncomplicated labour. Everyone was doing what they had to do, mainly waiting for the woman to have more and louder pain.