The Returning Tide Read online

  Bobby turned to me. ‘Shall I take you back to Dot at the dance hall?’

  ‘No, I’ll make my way back to the train. I have the impression that Captain Tucker needs you urgently.’ I stood on tiptoe and kissed him. ‘See you soon.’

  Nineteen

  Windward, Mawnan Smith, Falmouth, Cornwall

  11 September 2015

  Jack paced the terrace, next to the low stone wall with the lavender appearing over the top. I could tell he wasn’t seeing the beauty of the September garden around him. Roses had come back into bloom, the hydrangeas were still putting on a valiant show and the sedum were just beginning to reach their peak. In his hand he held paper and pen. His whole being was focused and his hair was in disarray, just like when he had been a small boy working out the solution to his maths homework. That work had been a struggle until a brilliant teacher had unlocked the numbers for him – after which we couldn’t hold him back – but right now his expression was exactly the same. He couldn’t see the logic or the way through.

  Every so often he would squint and look out to the bay. His whole life changed out there when his mother and his aunt died in a terrible boating accident. I hoped he wasn’t looking backwards. I knew that never helped and he needed to get this speech right for Peta. Above everyone, she believed in him and loved him. Her love for him had helped him heal, and his had done the same for her.

  ‘He doesn’t look happy.’ Fred’s voice intruded into my thoughts. I turned.

  ‘No, he doesn’t,’ I said.

  ‘I did say to Peta that it wasn’t fair to ask him to give a speech.’ He glanced about looking for his fiancée. He was a good-looking boy, strongly built yet still lanky, showing his youth. Half man, half boy. I remembered so many like that, and how many of them had never filled out into adulthood.

  ‘No, it’s not fair, but who else would she ask?’

  ‘True.’ He wiped his hands on his jeans. He had a pencil stuck behind his ear and a few bits of wood shavings on his shoulders. He and his father had been constructing a raised platform for the top table. They were doing it to save money, but it seemed a waste of time. However, Peta wanted everyone to be able to see them and not feel excluded if they weren’t sitting close enough. ‘Maybe I should have a word?’

  I raised an eyebrow.

  ‘You think not?’

  ‘He has to work this out himself,’ I said.

  Fred shook his head. ‘Maybe Peta should then. He doesn’t have to do this.’

  ‘Yes and no.’

  Fred frowned.

  ‘He loves her.’

  ‘True.’ He smiled.

  ‘Ah, there you are.’ Peta appeared carrying a tray filled with mugs.

  ‘You read my mind.’ Fred kissed her then took the tray from her. ‘Shall we sit over there in the shade?’

  ‘Of course.’ Peta tucked her arm through mine and led me to a table placed out of the way under a large Monterey pine. The day was hot and unnaturally still. The water in the bay looked motionless but I knew it was an illusion. Just like Peta’s calm. Nerves must be surging through her. She was so young, just twenty-two.

  Big dark clouds crept above the bay. I listened to the chatter behind me. Peta was positive that the weather for tomorrow would be perfect. The view in front of me told otherwise. But wasn’t rain on your wedding day supposed to be an omen for success? It had mizzled as only the Cornish weather could on the day I’d married Andrew. It had been a simple affair with only his children and two friends as witnesses. We held our wedding breakfast at the Green Lawns Hotel nearby and had a lovely time. Andrew and I then caught the train to London where we spent our honeymoon before returning to Windward and a season of summer guests. That had also been the last summer I had to use Windward as a B&B. Andrew insisted it was unnecessary, saying that I had made it his home and he could afford both it and me. I smiled. He had looked after me very well; I had enjoyed watching his children grow and even more enjoyed Jack and Peta. They felt more mine somehow, although no blood linked us. George and Pamela were teens when they had moved into Windward. I was merely there for them, but with Jack and Peta I’d played a bigger role. Now all I wanted was for them to both find happiness. Looking at Fred and Peta, I could be sure that at least one of them had succeeded.

  Twenty

  HMS Attack, Portland, Dorset

  27 April 1944

  Exercise Tiger had gone to plan last night and I woke this afternoon with a sense of excitement that hadn’t left me. Now an hour before my midnight shift I breathed in the clear air while I walked from my quarters to the tunnels. The first part of the exercise had gone smoothly – not even a dropped signal, which was unheard of. We were going to win this war, I just knew it.

  I looked up to the sky. Thousands and thousands of stars were above me. My heart lifted. One more night of practice and then I imagined they would be looking for good weather for an invasion. Not that anyone said as much, but with exercises on this scale it had to be what they were moving towards. The American girls I was working with had proved to be not as bad as I feared, just a little nervous. But I supposed if I were that far away from home and everything was different, I wouldn’t be my calm self either. It was that way with the troops too. When they had first arrived they had been excitable, but weeks in a muddy field had dampened their enthusiasm as it would anyone’s.

  Tonight’s shift would mark the end of this round of exercises. I hadn’t heard from Bobby in days. I imagined he was involved but didn’t know for sure. Work was something we never spoke about.

  ‘Well handled last night,’ said a voice behind me as I strolled, still staring at the night sky.

  I started in surprise, and turned to find Commander Rowse. I immediately stopped and stood to attention and saluted. I hadn’t seen or heard him walking towards me in the darkness. ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘I knew you were the right person for the job.’

  I nodded, feeling the colour rise in my cheeks. Everything was going so well, even the war for once. I began walking again.

  ‘The conditions are good.’ He matched his pace to mine.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  He nodded and turned towards the docks while I dashed the rest of the way to the tunnels. I wanted to make sure everything was ready for my watch as it had been last night. This was an American operation and I was there to make sure it went smoothly.

  Inside the tunnels, I approached the wireless room, saw the team waiting for the change of shift and could feel their restlessness. A quick head count told me they were all there. Susan, the youngest of the team, came forward.

  ‘I’m so glad you’re here. Dolores is afraid to say that she isn’t feeling well.’ She pointed at her stomach and mine tightened in sympathy.

  ‘I’ll have a word with her.’ I looked through the door to the eight women currently working at the two long tables lining the walls of the narrow room. Their weariness was apparent in the hunch of their shoulders. Listening required intense focus and I knew the convoys were underway by now.

  ‘Dolores?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Are you unfit for duty?’

  ‘I’ll be fine.’

  I raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you certain?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The decision was made, but I hoped it was the right one. I walked into the room to speak to the officer in charge. It was five minutes to midnight.

  The clock on the wall read 0300 and the convoy was making good progress. The radios were relatively quiet and Captain Harris had stepped out of the room. I took a deep breath. Silence filled the air along with cigarette smoke and the smell of cold coffee except for the occasional tap on a straight key. Another few hours and this would be finished. I would see Bobby tomorrow, I hoped. His smiling blue eyes appeared in my mind, then vanished as my call sign began. Pencil poised above the paper, my finger hovered above the lever. The sound of chairs scraping on the floor nearly drowned out the signal. Around me the team sprang into action, bare
ly keeping up with the pace. The silence had been replaced by the fierce sound of tapping.

  Across the room I saw heads lifting up from the desk and making eye contact with each other with puzzled frowns on their faces. Something was happening. I shut out the noise around me and concentrated on listening to the messages coming in. As I scratched out the Morse on the pad I realised it wasn’t encoded. It was plain language.

  ‘Oh my God. They’re being fired on.’ It was Dolores who spoke. She was as white as a sheet.

  ‘It’s practice,’ said one of the girls. ‘Just like last night.’

  I’d overheard that live rounds were being used to ready the men. So many of them had so little experience of anything, let alone battle. I thought of the fresh and eager faces standing on the side of the dance floor or walking along the street smiling.

  ‘No, no, they’ve been hit and the boat is going down. They’re not using code.’ Dolores’s head was back down as she continued to write and tap.

  ‘Remind them to use code,’ I called above the furious noise of metal tapping metal. The women’s quick glances to each other spoke of panic, and I couldn’t deny that I was feeling it too.

  I adjusted my headphones, listening to be sure of what I was hearing. Writing at speed. Yes, they were hit. It wasn’t encoded. The man transmitting was using plain language. I replied, telling him to use code. The stream kept coming in plain language. The fear flowed with each word, almost stuttering.

  We’re twenty miles off Portland Bill. Send help.

  SOS The ship has been hit.

  I looked at the women around me, and they were all caught up in what was happening. The boats didn’t know where the fire was coming from. I was listening to the dits and dahs revealing their confusion.

  Why are the Brits firing at us?

  I replied to use code.

  No, no, it’s not the Brits. There are E-boats. Not sure how many. Send help.

  Are you sure it’s not U-boats? I asked, my finger swiftly tapping out the question.

  E-boats, they replied. Three, maybe more.

  My hand could barely keep up with the flow recording their words. It wasn’t just dits and dahs, it was fear. That didn’t need translation.

  Why is no one helping us?

  Another glance about the room and to the door revealed that Captain Harris hadn’t returned. Had he slipped out in the quiet moments to confer? Where was he now? Men were dying and we needed to do something. He could help. We were safe in an underground tunnel while E-boats destroyed the convoy. Somewhere quite close there was a battle raging. Where were the ships that were supposed to be protecting the landing craft? What was happening in the rooms down the hall? What were the UK ships saying? Did they know what was happening?

  The boat is going down. We’re lost. Christ. Bill’s caught shrapnel through the chest.

  This is Ensign Peter Crown. Please tell my wife I love her. Tell my mother I’m sorry. Tell my––

  The transmission ended. I glanced around. The white faces around me told the same story.

  Dear God, I prayed. Help them.

  I picked up another signal. Again the telegraphist on the boat wasn’t using code but plain language. They had to use code. The E-boats would be picking up these signals as well. His words put every hair on my body on edge. They were dying.

  Where is help? We’re being shot at from all sides.

  There are three E-boats. Men in the water dying. SOS

  My hand shook as I wrote it all down. I could no longer see the women around me. I was with the men on the boats with the explosions going off all around them. They told me everything. With each dit and dah I heard them die. Without the protection of code their pain was mine.

  I stood with earphones still on, looking at the ashen faces about me. Were they hearing the same thing? Why was no one helping these boats? There were boats in the harbour. They could do something. We could stop this. We had to.

  Christ, they’re drowning, all these men with their packs on ready to land on the beach. They can’t swim.

  Please use code, I frantically typed, but that was not what they wanted to hear.

  We’re dying. The ship’s been hit again. SOS

  I’ll see what I can do, I transmitted. My finger hovered over the key. What else could I say? I looked for the officer in charge as I tore off another sheet. Still no sign of him. Did he know what was happening? Had he gone for help?

  Please.

  What could I say? My fingers tapped swiftly. You just have to do the best you can for yourself.

  They are not coming. God, someone please help us.

  One of the team looked up. ‘What can we do?’

  ‘Just log everything, absolutely everything.’ I took my headphones off. I had to do something. I signalled for the women to continue to work. The coders were as puzzled as I was. They had nothing to do, there was nothing to decode. I tried to stand fully straight but walked as if the world had tilted. Where was the captain? Where had he gone? These men needed help. They were within distance of Portland. We could have boats to them in minutes. Why weren’t we doing something? Last night all the powers that be were here and tonight it was only my girls and me.

  Outside the telegraphy room, I looked down the narrow tunnel and the walls seemed to close in. What was happening? Were we being invaded? I shivered. No one was in sight. I did not know what to do – abandon my shift and go in search of aid, or stand with them and record the massacre? I had taken a few steps down the hall when I heard a cry from one of my operators. I returned to my post. I would witness this with them. I lifted the headset to my ears and sank down onto the chair.

  Hours passed. No help came to us or to them. The officers were nowhere to be found. I felt the numbness about me. The anger of earlier had abated. The horror remained, hour after hour. I heard their pain, my ears rang with the tone of their deaths.

  Finally, the clock on the wall showed 0800. The next shift arrived and we handed over in silence. I collected the sheets from everyone. We’d lived a lifetime in eight hours and provided the last contact with many men who would never see the morning light. I avoided my operators’ eyes. I would only see my own anger, my powerlessness and my pain reflected in theirs. One of them reached out and touched my hand. I stilled, then took a deep breath. Our glances met and then I turned away, marching down the hall to hand the sheets over.

  The door was open to the office but no one was there. Abandon ship rang through my mind. They had all escaped, leaving us powerless. It was a massacre. I had no idea how many men were dead. But all I could think of was Bobby. Was he one of them?

  Eventually I found Captain Harris coming out of the operations room. I thrust the sheets at him. If I could have hit him with them I would have. I was about to stumble away when I saw Commander Rowse emerge behind Harris.

  The commander nodded at me as First Officer Smith suddenly appeared at my side, leading me out of the tunnels with the officers following behind. Fresh air slapped me in the face but it didn’t revive me as it normally did. Both Rowse and Harris were speaking, but I barely registered what they said. My head was filled with the dying men’s words, the thick smoke of the cigarettes mixed with the aroma of strong coffee in the telegraphy room, all of which had been consumed in the small hours of the night watch. We let them die and did nothing. I was dimly aware of Commander Rowse instructing Smith as I was led away.

  The next thing I knew, I was in Smith’s office and she was pouring a large whisky, despite it only being just past eight o’clock in the morning.

  ‘Drink this.’

  My hands trembled as I took the glass. The liquid burned the whole way down and my stomach complained. Everything was numb except for the tight knot inside, holding me together. At least the burning of the whisky meant I was still able to feel something. The world around me was out of focus. Nothing was right. No one had done anything. No one had behaved as they should. The boats had been fired upon from the land by the Allies and they ha
d been intercepted by the Nazis. Confusion and inaction had ruled. It was criminal.

  ‘I understand you have been through an ordeal.’ Smith’s eyes said much more than her words.

  I didn’t respond. The men who died had been through an ordeal, a trial by fire and death, by drowning in the icy waters of the Channel, far from their homes and loved ones. I raised the glass to my mouth, looking with unseeing eyes over the rim.

  ‘Pull yourself together, Seaton.’

  I nodded. This wasn’t supposed to have happened. We weren’t supposed to let them die just off our coast.

  Commander Rowse came in. He looked as terrible as I felt, pale and shaken. The superintendent poured him a whisky too and then she topped up mine. He knocked his back in one.

  ‘There will be a meeting at 12.00 p.m.’ He looked directly into my eyes. ‘You will be there. I know I am stating the obvious but do not say a word to anyone about what you have heard or think you have heard.’

  I focused on him. He was supposed to know what to do, and instead he was looking at me and pleading with me not to break. How was I supposed to hold this in? I could already feel myself fracturing, the cracks growing, everything inside ready to spill out. I followed his lead and drank the whisky down in one, as the superintendent arched her brows.

  ‘Go and get some sleep,’ she said.

  ‘Thank you.’ Even to my ears the words were slurred, but whether it was from drink, exhaustion or despair I didn’t know and didn’t care.

  When I reached my cabin, I was grateful no one else was there. I stumbled into the bathroom and splashed my face with water. My stomach roiled. I retched into the sink, but but nothing came up. Again and again my stomach spasmed uselessly. Nothing would come out of me. Nothing was allowed to. My face looked no different than it had this morning but I knew I would never be the same.

  Twenty-One

  Falmouth, Cornwall

  12 September 2015

  The coffee was dark and Lara needed every atom of caffeine in it as she flipped through the notes for the wedding. When Cassie had called her back yesterday from the hospital, saying that her mother had had an aneurysm, Lara hadn’t hesitated – she had told Cassie to stay with her dad, and that she would take care of the wedding. On Cassie’s instructions she had called Peta Rowse, brought her up to date on the situation and assured her things would be fine: everything was ready, Cassie’s team knew everything they needed, and Lara would be there to supervise. The bride had been remarkably unperturbed that her caterer wouldn’t be there, instead showing more concern for Cassie and her mother.