"The whole contraption (Schuite) was held by a thick rope from the top of the quay by me, with some help, and I had the idea to get a sharp breadknife worked into a polo stick. I had it at an angle and hooked it around the very thick rope of the connection in both boats, once that was done an up and down movement in the water would gradually cut the rope. At the same time my old school friend ,Ächiles, was holding the grappled schuite so as not to lose it and I joined in helping him secure the boat. The whole operation took less than 10 minutes and was so successful we couldn't believe our eyes. Having the schuite freed we pulled it in to the bridge between the two docks which turned out to be a considerable distance away. Ducking under the bridge we had to manoevre and continue along the whole length of the next dock till we came to a ramp to pull it upon. The problem now was to get to the creek.
This had taken a good deal of the day so one of us had to stand guard till the next morning while the others looked for a cart big enough to transport the vessel in. My Dad found an old customer of my Grandmother, a caretaker of Tilbury dock and sheds and he got us the best cart available with all hands now getting the boat on it on the small wharf near the Billard and Creighton works who were trawler makers. Once this was achieved it was quite easy to pull and push it to the creek to put it on the grassy slopes close to the Ibis, a boarding school for seaman's orphans.
The shrapnel damage on the side we managed to mend with a plank from the wood piles and caulked the rest to make it watertight and it was as good as ever. From the bombed and burnt out Tilbury offices we procured a flagpole for a mast, sail. Canvas we got from the cellar, it had been used to cover the boiler. The two oars were another matter, we procured two straight stems from the Spars on the inland sand dunes, the remains of a wooded area which soon would completely disappear. I wouldn't say by encroaching civilization, but rather by unscrupulous stripping mostly of the occupier. The only trouble not being hardwood they would bend slightly so we fixed it by putting skids/slits????on and bolting the planks inbetween. (So, Proud of my Dad!)
The day of the launching was approaching and all old friends and neighbours were present. It was the Vikings again going out a roving!. After this the creek, the river North-Ede to Bruges and front harbour were never safe again, while it lasted. We sailed, tackled, trawled and rowed to our hearts content, argued when one pulled too much to one side, especially the very strong one called Gentilis against the weakness of the group in athletics called Pierre. This caused the boat to go into a spin when they were aboard but everybody had a good time.
We augmented our food supply with eels, flat fish and sea bass, we also cultivated mussel beds and were thinking of going out to sea, just in front of the coast, that is the amount of leeway we were allowed because we were under close surveillance, but who knows was the hope, a sudden mist and we may have been able to get away. A couple had succeeded to do just that, but only one made it, the others never survived the straffing that followed soon after. After a while one could not even get onto the beaches there was barbed wire everywhere plus mines and guns pointed at you.
My Dad kept away from the boat; one day he got caught by his own rod which had a double hanger with hooks to fish with on one side.. As he tried to reel in a wiggling eel, it managed to swing wildly and the other hook embedded in his right cheek I don't know who was catching whom but it was another thing to free him from the entanglement!(Cute story of my Dad and Grandfather)
All good things had to come to an end, once Achiles and I having finished collecting the ropes from the barquentine, which had been thrown in before the government left for England, were involved in an incident that knocked me head first into the water. I was hauling in the ropes, at great speed, and Achiles was rowing. Unfortunately, he wasn't looking where he was going and headed straight into the rear of a bigger boat. As I was standing upright the upper read end of the barge knocked me over into the water, which was none to warm and I had to swim to the boat which was heavy going as I was fully clothed, shoes and all. To keep warm we rowed as fast as we could and we were still fiercely arguing as we passed the Tilbury wharves, that were being used for loading Germant torpedoes on to speed boats. The German sailors watching us too closely maybe thought the worst and knocked somehow their delicate load.
An unexpected chain reaction started gradually developing from that and transferring to everything else like a slow running fire. All I knew was the sparks started to fly suddenly in all directions. What had happened I'll
never know and we suddenly found ouselves rowing for dear life while the spattering of ammunition increased behind us, first in small explosions, to a whole battery of bullets going off simultaneously, it was like being on a battleground.
We just made it towards the stairs opposite our house, after securing the boat, then the whole wharf seemd to rise up in a great glowing red flame. We looked back and waited for the deafening bang which we knew would result from the explosions. When the displacement of air came we were blown along by the force and slid sideways into the hallway and quickly descended into the cellar for shelter. (Now I know why my Dad always appeared to be scared of nothing!) Before our dash for safety we noticed a cyclist coming towards us who never had to pedal, he was just swept away with the force of the rushing wind which carried him along for kilometeres he later told us. We never could figure out how this thing had really started!
A bus load of German artists and tourists dispatched to the war zone for entertainment had waited too long on the signals. Suddenly, the last man came running through the fence to tell them to get away in a hurry and run, which they did, that was after receiving first the full blast in their faces bleeding profusely from the cuts mainly on their heads.
Afterwards, we took a little walk further on from the scene wondering what else might go up and met with the cyclist who told us about the free and effortless ride he had made. After all was quiet we went back and could find no trace of the sailors, labourers or flack team on a tower who were watching the whole incident in their last doomed moments, unbeknown to them!
Soon afterwards a detachment of officers and soldiers made a thorough house search in our row or "wyk", bayonets on rifles, luger drawn in hand pointed towards us; as they looked at my Dad's recommendation on the wall picturing Belgian soldiers with rifle and bayonet looking at them too, wearing the Yzer Cross on the Yzer front of 1914-1918. I thought we were in for it, especially as it seemed the rifle in our picture pointed at them for their father's deeds.
A few questions were asked which I understood with our low German Flemish dialect, about whether we had seen a couple of fellows with a boat who had been near the scene about the time of the explosion. Of course, that is the the bit (of the conversation) that we didn't understand, we kept our fingers crossed. Phew, that was close! The carelessness of the German sailors turned the catastrophe to our favour far better than any sabotage could have done at that moment in time and that is how it was..."
To be continued ...
No comments:
Post a Comment