The Siren

1948

The conversation lapsed amongst the bottles, cigarette ends and the remains of a meal. The three of us overcome by a tired, sweaty, stupor which was too much for the husband, for wiping his white sweat-streaked face, he pulled himself up off the divan and struggled out of the room, leaving us together in the fading evening light.

Groped about for the glasses, refilling them, the ice tinkling in the silence. "Tell me - what made you pick me up off the street this morning?" I said, dragging myself towards her. For a moment she didn't reply, just running her fingers through my hair as naturally as we had been lovers for a long time. Felt the skin rise on my back while straining my ears listening for the husband, but, all quiet in that direction.

"I don't know," she said, slurring her words, "you looked such easy meat for all those native girls but you're too good for them and I decided, suddenly and for no particular reason, that I wanted you for myself." Looked at her closely; by now getting difficult to see her expression, she, laughing softly as though amused by my bewilderment.

"But," I went on, "there were hundred of mateloes ashore today - why pick on me?"

"It doesn't matter, silly," she said, as though how could I possibly be expected to understand. She pulled her shoulder down, putting my head on it. Felt that she was working a little too hot for my liking.

"What about him?" I said, nodding in the direction of the door.

"What about him?" she said savagely. "He's probably unconscious in bed by now."

Poured some of the grog down my throat, hoping that it would induce the "Sailors don't care" attitude, but nothing happened other than the sweat increased, running down my back and beneath my arm pits. Mopped my face with a handkerchief, wishing that I hadn't allowed myself to become shanghaied like this, but what would anyone else have done in the same circumstances? When she pulled her car beside me and offered a lift  had been pleased to climb in out of the blazing Trinidad Sunshine, it had boosted my ego to let the boys see me being driven along with a very chic bird at the helm, although she was a little older than myself, but I preferred such a woman rather than the usual run of giggling girties. She had driven me about, pointing out various places of interest, telling me of her husband who was with the Colonial Administration - and what a struggle with all these Blacks. Hadn't said much, being quite content to sit there letting the breeze blow on me and feeling relieved to be free from the ship with its crawling mass of humanity. Finally we left the din and dust of the town and drove inland where it appeared to become much warmer - the houses changed from tumble-down tin shanties which served to shelter the shouting gesticulating children and muttering old men who flopped across the footpath, apparently impervious to everything other than the swarms of flies which they attempted to keep off with a tired wave of their long skinny arms, to a more sedate yet uninteresting type, they were big, standing back from the main road in well kept grounds. I hardly saw any people at all, but I imagined the afternoon tea ritual which, no doubt, was going on inside them, the stuffy old dears and the cantankerous old bastard that served as men, complaining about the heat, the Blacks and the latest fall in their dividends, wishing, probably, that they could have swapped the lot for a night with one of the occasional black beauties that I had seen about.

Eventually we had swept into a drive-way almost concealed by a thick growth of brilliantly flowering trees and shrubs. Stopping the car and getting out, stood for a moment  -  wanted to stretch myself badly, but somehow it didn't seem to be the done thing. The house, settled amongst some trees, a large two-storied place on top of a small hill, the view from the huge upstairs windows unrestricted. Somewhere could be heard the trickle of water, soft yet clear. No noise other than that and the sound of our own muffled footsteps as we picked our way up the wynding slate path leading to the house.

We had gone into the lounge, the furnishing and decor being something out of an American magazine. Felt pretty uncomfortable and must have shown it by the way I sat on the edge of the chair, but after Lyddia had brought the drinks I stopped fiddling with my tapes, sat back beginning to take notice, like a kid at school on his first day. Edward - the husband - had come home on the dot of two, a big scraggy bloke dressed in tropical rig, had to shut my mouth tight to stop myself from saying 'Dr. Livingstone, I presume', such was the impression he made on me.

"Edward dear," she said, "this is Peter. I thought we would look after him for today rather than let him wander about in the heat and filth of town, and really he is such a dear." Felt the colour rising to my face but the old boy didn't seem to notice anything peculiar about having a mateloe wandering about his mansion, just gave me a quick look through his thick rimmed glasses, shook my hand and asked the usual questions - What ship? Oh yes a cruiser! "I have a brother who is a Commander. What is it he's on now, Lyddia?" he said, turning to his wife.

"It's the Ajax isn't it, anyway it doesn't matter," she went on, "you two amuse yourselves while I see how the Cook is getting on".

We hadn't done very well amusing ourselves, the conversation quickly; back to the weather as a last resort; finishing that subject he looked through the Times while my thoughts were centred on the set-up. How did such a person, obviously one of the old brigade, get such a woman as he had for a wife; probably she smelt the loot, which by the lay-out of the place he must have plenty of, and then nailed him when his pants were down. He wouldn't have stood much chance against her once she decided to have him. The afternoon had passed easily enough, Lyddia taking me about the house and the grounds. Had been most impressed with the bedrooms, but especially the bathroom which had been done in black tiles and with one complete wall a mirror. The house had an atmosphere of being on show; never used. Half expected to find a shed in the bottom of the garden where they slept.

Quite dark by now and very quiet:, outside could be heard the frogs whistling against a background of crickets that clicked endlessly in the warm still air. Lyddia stretched out on the floor, pulling me down beside her - still wasn't sure. Admittedly she was showing all the signs of wanting me, but feeling that possibly at any moment she would come down to earth and start shouting for the old boy. I was shaking pretty badly in spite of the grog, all she had to do was to settle me down and it was in the bag.

"What's the matter? You don't have to keep worrying about him, and the staff have gone home," she purred, pulling me closer. Didn't answer anything to this, being too busy having a kind of mental count-down. My mind racing in diminishing circles to the fact that it would have to be gone through with. My left arm was under her head as I tried to drop my flap as unobtrusively as possible. A new rig and the four buttons across the top were very tight. She whispered something, felt her giving me a hand with them, after that nothing seemed to matter very much.

Surprised to find in the ensuing heat that she didn't have any under-clothes on, and men still went about the world imagining it was they who did the seducing!

The ship had an almost happy atmosphere about it, everyone being fairly amiable, the morning dish-up going off without argument. Baxter, the chief stoker, came down to the mess, red cheeks matching in brilliance the ribbons on his barrel-like chest.

"Come on boys, turn-to." he said, with an almost Fatherly attitude.

"Christ, what's the matter with him this morning?"

"Don't know," I said to Jock, who was helping me struggle into my monkey suit.

"Probably like the rest of you bastards - been ashore and got rid of all that  dirty water off his chest."

"Oh, what about yourself man?" he said laughing. "I saw you myself, driving about with a bird in that posh car."

Before I could answer that one, Baxter interrupted us with his usual wit.

"Now here is a happy couple, hiding behind the lockers. And when, may I ask, is the wedding?" With a leer he put his arm around me.

"Now, now, Chiefy, don't be lecherous, it's too early in the morning, and besides, you'll make all the boys jealous." I turned to Jock, trying to keep a straight face. "Come on, we won't have anything to do with this riffraff."

"Yes, you had better get on or else you'll get my boot where it hurts most."

We shot off. Jock was in a working party; I had a quiet number in the engineer's office, just walking about all day with a piece of paper in my hand. The brass never put in an appearance before nine, by which time I was supposed to have the office scrubbed out and everything in order.

Didn't particularly feel like scrubbing this morning, so going up on deck and finding a quiet spot, watched the activity on the quay. The Sun hadn't really got to work, still cool and crisp, with a soft breeze coming off shore bringing with it a faint smell reminding me of perfume, but unlike any I had smelt on a bird. It made me wish like hell to be possible to stay; thought of last night, wondering if she would help me. Somehow it didn't seem likely, they would have picked me up in no time, even by dyeing my hair and shaving off the few whiskers had managed to grow with careful cultivation and much ribbing from the boys. I would still be recognizable anywhere, looking like a pugilist. Having been one they had wanted me to stay on in Chatham as a Barracks stanchion for their boxing team, but I wasn't interested.

The jaunty was looking hard in my direction; could see him talking to his off-sider and nodding towards me; not wishing to get into his bad books I disappeared down a hatch into the gloomy maze of stairways and corridors. Arriving at the office, had a quick sweep around, emptied the ash trays and just to look efficient, took the Brasso and a piece of cotton waste and put them conspicuously on the desk. Pinned up the daily orders although we never had anything much to do with the upper deck wallers rig and what not applying mainly to them. But other details such as leave 1300-0800 starboard watch, I was port, but in spite of the apparent fierceness of the chief stoker, only bluff - we being in fact very matey, and I was able to get leave any time within reason. Also on the notice board were the usual invitations to shore parties but something quite unusual... certain parts of Trinidad out of bounds. No reason given for these,; made a note deciding to go there first thing.

Hard to understand why they tolerated me in the Engineer's office. Suppose because I could type better than any of them. The Commander always thought a great deal of me since the day in Chatham dockyard just before we left he had been sending signals in all directions trying to locate spare parts that we must have. Wandered into the dockyard off my own bat to see if I could find out anything, life in the office being just about unbearable. Knew a couple of writers who were in the same National Service group as myself and imagined that they may give me some help. We first of all discussed more important things - that my group was due to go at any tick of the clock, this was pretty staggering as I was off on a six months' cruise of the West Indies, but decided not to scream as I imagined that it would be a long time before another such chance would come my way. More important was that one of them had managed to get a Wren in the 'family way' which could only be remarked that ' the issue was free in the sick bay', but finally we settled down to Knocker and his spare parts.

A few casual phone calls and then a trot over to one of the more remote stores where we found, neatly labled 'Diadem', a pile of spares covered with old sacking and cobwebs. Knocker took a little convincing on the phone, but he must have sprinted the half mile from the ship, for he was on the scene in no time at all, it was, he said, a 'jolly good show' the writers and I exchanged glances.

"Bye," I said, "and thank you - send you a piece of black velvet air-mail packed in ice; or do you think you have your hands full here?"

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

There was always something to interest me; mostly preferring to study the six men responsible for keeping the ship moving. The Commander, six foot four, angular, athletic, never really losing his temper, he would slowly simmer, with the boys; he hardly ever spoke. With me he was almost apologetic - would you mind if I sat down? he would say. This was always my cue to jump as though I didn't know he was there. Whittle, second in command, fat gin-and-tonic type, we never had much to say; in his more amiable alcoholic moments he was quite human, he would sit chatting in his chair, knees apart, hands resting on them, stomach comfortably filling the space between. Then came the 'three musketeers' as I usually called them; three public schools boys not very much older than myself; Lieutenant E. Mulholland, my divisional offices, tall, thin, intellectual, fine chiseled features with long feminine hands. Simpson, a  fatter variety, rosy cheeks, not so precise, would go so far as to talk to us provided nobody else was about, and Rowse... who could never get out of bed. Usually had to go to his cabin and get him, the old man being one of the punctual types. W.O. Hatchet bottom of the list, evidently he had worked his way up from the lower deck and was trying hard to forget the experience, never associating himself with anybody, evidently took it upon himself to save the Government money, always giving the crew work that should have been done by the dockyard matey specialists, probably looking for more promotion.

On one occasion he had practically killed me, when swinging round a buoy in Sheerness, and doing nothing in particular he decided to clear out a condenser.... only room for one at a time inside it and he had to be a contortionist without any sense of claustrophobia whatsoever in order to get in and out. When almost finished, Hatchet dreamt up a rubber concoction as a final sealer, and for this piece of enterprise he selected me. Equipping myself with a gas mask, light and a spray, leaving very little room inside to breath, let alone move. Had started rather well, but after a while, things started to lurch and sway about, and began to feel a terrible choking sensation. Not panicky by nature, but must have torn the mask off and began to inhale the muck in real earnest, which didn't improve the situation. The boys outside realising that I wasn't enjoying the situation, but powerless to get me out without taking the ship to pieces. Somehow, hung on to enough control to get my head and shoulders out of the manhole and they were able to drag the rest of me clear. Hatchet, distinctly remember, looked as though he may have been enjoying himself, but his expression soon changed when I began to yell that my dog was left inside, and that somebody was to get it out. Such a display made all the boys want to take over - it finished up that they left it, just bolting the cover back on. He sent me up on deck to get some air, somebody going with me; must have been pretty far gone, because we were over on the starboard side (officers only) and who should come along but the Skipper with a party of visitors; we must have made a splendid impression, myself lying almost prostrate, covered in rust, red rubber solution and filth, while my off-sider stood dubiously over me, not knowing whether to salute, stand to attention or throw himself over the side… still muttering about the dog, but they walked past us as though we didn't exist; evidently that class of people, trained from their infancy to be able to ignore unpleasantness.

The morning passed more slowly than usual - always did when wanted to get ashore - only Hatchet put in an appearance, he didn't have anything to say, just carefully put his hat on the desk, getting out a cigarette, sat there, surrounding himself with a cloud of blue smoke that hung hazily about him.

Decided the place was overcrowded, went to have a chat with Father Kepps whose cabin was opposite the office, uninterested in his Bible punching; he never tried it on me, as a person he wasn't bad, short, dapper, with an almost wizard face set off by a goatee beard. The eyes were the most interesting part of him, being green with a peculiar sparkle , somehow made me think he wasn't quite so pious as he pretended. His cabin full of crosses , nick-nacks ... had a smell that evidently reminded some of the boys of a Portuguese brothel; anyway that's how they always described it.

"Well, how are you today Peter?" he greeted me from the open door.

"Not too bad, Father." I replied with a cautious sniff.

"Tell me," he went on, after the usual pleasantries. "How would you like a run ashore with me?"

This, I thought, was a new one; seeing my hesitation he went on to explain that he was to visit some Bishop or other who lived up country - transport being laid on.

"Well," I thought, "here is a further opportunity to see how the other half live."

It was arranged for the following afternoon. Went forard towards the mess turning it over in my mind; he didn't strike me as being queer.. we had always been on good terms up until now, though had never received such an invitation; besides, anything was better than staying up this two funneled bastard.

The heat on the mess deck wasn't the best. Ninety-two stokers eating and sleeping in a space that allowed them eighteen inches width when their hammocks were slung, each touching the other. Preferred to sling up on the deck in all weathers for as can be imagined, the smell was pretty high. The quarters were the rough and ready type, no doubt built with Nelson in mind, or was it something to do with the Exchequer? There were four long tables with a narrow bench either side, the hammocks swung above these on iron bars that stretched the width of the mess. The constant scrubbing left the whole place in perpetual dampness, an occasional rat scuttling across the maze of pipes on the deck head - a cockroach in the soup - without so much as a raised eyebrow, the more hardened type treating it as a delicacy.

Could hardly wait to get down the gangway. We shuffled into some sort of a line while the Jaunty gave us a look over. In spite of the washing difficulties, our white suits looked like a Persil ad. however, what they were like in the morning was anybody's guess! Soon as we cleared, headed off in a direction of streets labeled as being out of bounds, stopping here and there to get my bearings from the natives. Nothing remarkable about the area, smoldering streets of tumble-down shanties were no different to others I had seen, possibly the place had a more deserted air, but that could have been because everyone had taken refuge from the heat. Going into one of the bars I had the usual rum and coke which was about the only thing that counteracted the heat as far as I was concerned. The bar, deserted except for the barman who kept giving me an odd look while I sipped my drink and idly watched the fan that slowly whirled stirring the heat that hung over everything, making even thought an effort. Became aware that somebody was watching me from behind; must have stiffened, for whoever came right up to me and without any preliminaries began to harangue me. Slowly put the glass down, clench my fist, at the same time turned round just enough; hoped to appear casual, not wanting anything shoved in my back. The rough stuff, however, was out; this particular Johnny was only trying to convince me of something verbally. Apparently, to him, I was only here to protect the interests of capitalist exploiters. Looked the guy over, he struck me as peculiar, to say the least; in a country where people had next to nothing he was over-dressed, an old suit stretched over his tall thin figure, he had shoes at one end and a collar and tie at the other - to put the finishing touches an Anthony Eden hat. This called for another drink, which he paid for without in any way interrupting himself. The whites of his eyes stood in clear contrast to his almost black skin, his whole face twisted with effort, drops of sweat running down from his temples... so far as I was concerned, he was wasting his time, either liked somebody or I didn't, irrespective of what colour they were painted on the outside.

"Listen Joe, shut up and have another drink. You take life too seriously," and to give him a little encouragement followed up with, "So okay, you look upon me as an oppressor; it's true that we go from one island to another, land, march up and down, show the flag while off shore the fleet swings its guns in your direction, but what about myself at home in my own country," I went on, "am I not threatened too, admittedly not with guns, but with unemployment? Don't the capitalists there have it all their own way? I work while some fan tart sits on her fanny waiting for the postman to deliver the dividends. Possibly, in a few years time, you will be let in Britain as a sop for the exploitation and also as a further weapon against the working mass."

He began to see the light and started to grin.

"We're brothers," he said, or rather drooled sentimentally - that was enough for me.

Shouldering my way through the swing doors a patrol jerked up beside me. I cursed myself for being so careless - that bloody idiot had set me thinking, throwing me off guard. I knew what to expect, there sat a very sarcastic chief gunner with a couple of the boys all of another ship - this was going to be difficult,

"Thank Christ you came along." I started, "I have been wandering around here trying to get to the Colonial Administration."

This was a new one to him.

"Oh, so you are going to the Colonial Administration - who are you meeting - the Prime Minister? I suppose you know this area is out of bounds? Come on, we'll take you back and you can explain it all to the old man."

Ignored this, fished in my pay-book and brought out a card they had given me yesterday, an impressive affair, it read - "N. Burton, Crown Agent for the Colonies", the address following. "Now Chiefy, you wouldn't want to annoy this bloke? I tell you he invited me over yesterday, and I lost my way."

That seemed to do it, for he slammed the jeep into gear and we shot off, nobody speaking until we pulled up outside the house. Lyddia was there in the garden, taking it very easy in a two piece swimming suit; the boys gave a low whistle while the gunner could only say disgustedly, "I don't know how you blokes do it."

Jumped out, they went roaring off, leaving a trail of dust. The chief  evidently a little frustrated, could hear him taking it out on the jeep, flattening it successively through the gears. Lyddia and I went over and dropped into the deck chairs, she fished about in a portable ice box for a drink while I explained what had happened. Seemed very pleased with life, myself in particular: couldn't have been so bad after all, thought to myself.

"Where's everybody?"

"They're all away." She gave a smile, dropping her head slightly. "Edward has been up country."

"And the others?"

"I gave them the day off. What would you like to do?" she went on, ignoring the way I was smiling at her. "Shall we go for a swim - I could lend you a pair of trunks."

"Would you mind if I took this monkey suit off? You'll have to give me a hand though, else I shall get stuck with my hands above my head. Issuing these to me was more of a gesture, I don't imagine that they thought I would ever use them."

We went inside. "Now what is it you want me to do?"

I bent down and put my hands on her tights. "Okay, just get hold of the bottom, you pull and I'll wriggle."

We started to stagger about - it really takes practice. Finally with a lot of laughing, the thing came over my head.

"What a peculiar way to dress," she said.

"Tradition, I don't mind it - at least for the short time I have left in this mob.

"Oh, then you must be one of those doing two years?"

"That's right. I could have gone out a few months ago."

"Glad or sorry?" she said, throwing me a pair of trunks.

"Tell you later".

She let that one ride and gave me a tee shirt, the whole lot fitting well enough for her to make an appreciative comment.

"How did you get such a lovely figure?"

"It's not bad, cost me a lot of work, mostly boxing, used to fight for the Repton at Bethnal Green."

"Bethnal Green? why, that's a terrible area!"

She must have seen the look I gave her, for she dropped the subject and we went down to the car.

The strip she picked, a long white ribbon of deserted sand dazzling the eyes, burnt the feet. Plenty of shade further back amongst the coconut trees where we stretched out, watching the few white clouds that drifted across the sky, palm trees swaying gently in the off shore breeze giving a rustling barely audible above the surf rolling lazily in the afternoon heat.

The water, when we finally found enough energy to get in it, warm and clear; she didn't swim much, I pottered about diving for shells with one eye open for barracudas that were evidently plentiful in those waters. Eventually we threw ourselves down together: I was half on top of her, my face buried in her neck; her skin was cool and soft, I wasn't shaking at all, rather the other way about. Before she had realised it I had unclipped the top of her two-piece. She said something about "not here", I wasn't listening. Struggled, trying to hold on to the rest of it,; had the feeling more of a gesture, suddenly she stopped, falling back into the long coarse grass, dragging me with her, becoming oblivious to everything other than the heat of our bodies which the sea had been unable to cool.

Quite dark when I recovered sufficiently enough to take an interest in life. "You have been snoring," she said as I lifted my head.

"My God, I'm stiff and sore all over."

"Don't be such a baby," she purred, like a cat that has just swallowed a mouse."

I stood up and started to grope about in the soft moonlight for my things.

"Come on, let's go and have something to eat," she said, sitting up and holding out her hand.

Pulling her up, we went off to the car. Driving back in silence, she appeared a little tense over the whole affair, wondering, I imagined, what sort of reception she would find.

The house in darkness... went up, let ourselves in, she carefully drawing all the blinds before putting the light on. Somehow I felt our relationship had changed on entering this place: she was no longer a woman giving herself freely, she was Mrs. Buxton, wife of a very senior official, somebody with a position to live up to a long round of pressing social engagements, yet I had seen the best side of her, something which her old man, in spite of his money, had never been given. I debated all this under the shower while she set to with a tin opener - somehow I didn't expect her to be able to cook.

"Don't worry about me," I said, as we sat over the meal. "I'll go quietly." She seemed relieved at my attitude and put her hand over mine.

"If only more men were as understanding as you, then life wouldn't be so bad for us women. You're leaving tomorrow night, aren't you?" she said.

"Yes, as much as I would prefer to stay," realising I was wasting my time angling in that direction, but wondering what her reaction would be.

"How could you?"

"I could go on the run."

This apparently horrified her.

"But," she blurted out, "you're so easily recognisable, and where would you stay?"

" just a thought," I said, looking at her straight in the face. She knew I was putting her in a spot.

"You will write?" she asked, not very convincingly.

I took a look round the room.

"Don't think so - my letters would hardly match the tone of this place, and besides, what's the use? Once I'm gone we shall both drop back to our own worlds."

Didn't offer any argument to this. She started to fidget nervously;glanced at my watch.

"11 p.m., when are you expecting Edward?"

"Really not till the morning - but he could possibly come tonight," she added, as though to get rid of any further ideas I may have.

"Okay, let's go."

Suddenly I'd had enough... time to call it a day - back to the jolly "D" the stokers' mess and to the hell with society.

She dropped me at the back of the customs shed.

"Well, this is good-bye I guess."

"You're not annoyed with me Peter, are you?" She was almost sad.

"No, I accept life and, as they say in the classics 'when ya gotta go, ya gotta go'."

She laughed, "Anyway, I will write to you, even if you're too busy with all your other girls to write back."

"Don't forget the number - names don't mean anything in the Navy."

She started the car, "Good-bye."

Watched her till the lights disappeared out of the gates and then joined the string of boys who were struggling back towards the ship, which was floodlit, having almost a gay look with groups of natives selling fruit, ice cream and trinkets at the bottom of the gangways. From the quarter-deck could be heard dance music, the clink of bottles and the usual bursts of laughter - nothing could be seen other than the coloured lights as the whole deck was surrounded by canvas screens, the officers by the sounds of it were having a good time. tried to visualise a few of them - Hatchet for instance, wondered how he would go about making a pass, probably efficiently, no doubt bearing the cost in mind.

Going below like into an oven, the stench hitting me from the top of the hatch… changed quickly, grabbed my mick and went up on deck where I slung, and stripping off swung myself up and in, lying there for a while, watching the stars and listening to the marines who weren't doing too badly with "I'm in the mood for love" - Yes, I thought, it's a good life in the Navy, providing you don't weaken.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *