Jojo Moyes - Ship of Brides

‘Fine, Mummy. But I need to speak to Daddy.’

‘You don’t sound all right. Are you really fine?’

‘Yes.’

‘Has Ian sent any word yet?’

‘Mummy, I need to speak to Daddy.’ Avice struggled to keep her impatience out of her voice.

‘You would tell me?’

‘Is that my littlest princess?’

‘Oh, Daddy, thank goodness. There’s a problem.’

Her father said nothing.

‘With the transport.’

‘I spoke to Commander Guild myself. He promised me you’d be on the next—’

‘No, that’s not it. He’s got me on a boat.’

‘So what’s the problem?’

She could hear her mother behind her father: ‘It’s the young man. Ten to one it’s the young man.’

And Deanna: ‘Has he told her not to come?’

‘Tell them it’s nothing to do with Ian. It’s the ship.’

‘I don’t understand, Princess.’

‘It’s an aircraft-carrier.’

‘What?’

‘Maureen,’ he hissed. ‘Be quiet. I can’t hear a word she’s saying.’

Avice let out a short sigh.

‘Exactly. It’s an aircraft-carrier. They’re expecting us to sail to England on an aircraft-carrier .’

There was a brief silence. ‘They want her to travel on an aircraft-carrier,’ her father told her mother.

‘What? An aeroplane?’

‘No, you stupid woman. One of the ships they put the planes on.’

‘A warship?’

Avice could almost hear her reeling theatrically in horror. Deanna had started laughing. She would: she hadn’t forgiven Avice for marrying first.

‘You’re going to have to get me on to something else,’ Avice said urgently. ‘Talk to whoever it was who got me on. Tell him I need to travel on something else. Get me on another ship.’

‘You never said anything about an aircraft-carrier!’ her mother was saying now. ‘She can’t travel on one of those. Not with all those planes going off the deck all the time. It’ll be dangerous!’

‘Daddy?’

‘They sank the Vyner Brooke , didn’t they?’ her mother clamoured. ‘The Japs might try to sink the aircraft-carrier, like they sank the Vyner Brooke .’

‘Shut up , woman.

‘What’s the matter? Are you the only girl on board, Princess?’

‘Me? Oh, no, there’s six hundred or so wives travelling.’ Avice frowned. ‘It’s just that it will be awful. They’ll have us sleeping on bedrolls and there won’t be any facilities. And, Daddy, you should see the kind of girls they’ve got me going over with – the language! I can hardly say—’

Her mother broke through on to the line. ‘I knew it, Avice. They’re just not your sort. I really don’t think this is a good idea.’

‘Daddy? Can you sort it out?’

Her father sighed heavily. ‘Well, it’s not as easy as that, Princess. I had to pull quite a few strings to get you on board. And most of the brides have gone now, anyway. I’m not sure how many more transports there are going to be.’

‘Well, fly me over. I’ll go with Qantas.’

‘It’s not as easy as that, Avice.’

‘I can’t go on that awful ship!’

‘Listen, Avice, I paid a lot of money to get you on to it, you hear me? And I’m shelling out a damn sight more to keep you in that ruddy hotel because you didn’t fancy naval lodgings. I can’t pay out even more for a flight to Blighty just because you don’t like the facilities on board the ship.’

‘But, Daddy—’

‘Sweetheart, I’d love to help, really, but you’ve no idea how hard it was to get you on board.’

‘But, Daddy!’ She stamped her foot and the receptionist glanced at her. She lowered her voice to a whisper: ‘I know what you’re doing – don’t think I don’t know why you’re refusing to help me.’

Her mother broke in, her voice firm. ‘Avice, you’re right. I think the ship thing is a very bad idea.’

‘You do?’ Avice felt a flicker of hope. Her mother understood the importance of travelling comfortably. She knew that things should be done properly. What would Ian think if she turned up looking like a navvy?

‘Yes. I think you should come home today. Get on a train first thing tomorrow morning.’

‘Home?’

‘The whole thing has just too many ifs and buts. This ship business sounds absolutely awful, you haven’t heard from Ian in goodness knows how long—’

‘He’s at sea, Mummy.’

‘—and I just think all the signs are against you. Cut your losses, darling, and come home.’

‘What?’

‘You know nothing about this man’s family. Nothing. You have no idea if there’s even going to be anyone to meet you at the other end. That’s if this warship even gets there. Come home, darling, and we’ll sort it all out from here. Plenty of girls change their minds. You read about them all the time.’

‘Plenty of girls get dumped too,’ called Deanna.

‘I’m married, Mummy.’

‘And I’m sure we can do something about that. I mean, hardly anyone over here even knows.’

‘What?’

‘Well, it was only a little do, wasn’t it? We could have it annulled or something.’

Avice was incredulous. ‘Annulled? Ugh! You’re both such hypocrites! I know what you’re doing. You got me on the rottenest old ship you could find just so I wouldn’t want to travel.’

‘Avice—’

‘Well, too bad. You’re not going to make me change my mind about Ian.’

The receptionist had given up any pretence of not listening and was agog, leaning over her counter. Avice placed her hand over the receiver and raised her eyebrows at the girl. Embarrassed, she busied herself with some paperwork.

Her father broke back in: ‘You there? Avice?’ He sighed heavily. ‘Look, I’ll wire you some money. Leave it a while, if you want. Sit tight at the Wentworth. We’ll talk about this.’

Avice could hear her mother still wittering in the background. Her sister was demanding to know why she was staying at Sydney’s best hotel. ‘No, Daddy,’ she said. ‘Tell Mummy and Deanna I’ll be on the damned ship to meet my husband. I’ll get there my own way, even if it does mean swimming in diesel fuel and stinking troops, because I love him. I love him . I won’t ring again, but you can tell her – tell Mummy I’ll wire her at the other end. When Ian – my husband – has met me.’

3

To be eligible for an appointment in the Australian Army Nursing Service, the applicant had to be a trained registered nurse, a British subject, single, without dependants . . . medically fit and of good character and personal attributes essential to the making of an efficient army nurse.

Joan Crouch, ‘A Special Kind of Service’,

The Story of the 2/9 Australian

General Hospital 1940–46

Morotai, Halmaheras Islands, South Pacific, 1946

One week to embarkation

There was a full moon over Morotai. With a melancholy lucidity, it illuminated the still night, the heat so stifling that even the gentle sea breezes that could normally be relied on to filter through the sisal screens were deadened. The leaves of the palm trees hung limp. The only sound was a periodic muffled thud as a coconut hit the ground. There was no one left to take down the ripe ones, and they fell unchecked, a hazard to the unwary.

For the most part now the island was dark, only a few lights winking in the buildings that lined the road, which stretched the length of the peninsula. For the past five years that end of the island had been clamorous with the traffic of the Allied Forces, the air filled with the roar of aircraft engines and the belch of exhaust fumes, but now there was silence, broken only by bursts of distant laughter, the crackle of a gramophone and, just audible in the still night, the clink of glasses.