Rosie Dixon's Complete Confessions. Rosie Dixon
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“This way, ladies.” Bland and Brown lead the way and we start to climb our first flight of narrow steps. I say first because, by the end of the visit, I feel as if I have been up and down the Eiffel Tower a couple of times. Eventually we approach what is clearly the Captain’s cabin. I am looking forward to seeing inside it but, unfortunately, I never get the chance.
“You two, marshall the troops,” says Miss Bondage firmly. “I’ll handle Captain Truscott.” Leaving our imaginations to grapple with every disturbing implication of that statement she sweeps into the cabin.
“Charming,” says Penny. “Oh well—” She turns round but there is no sign of a single troop waiting to be marshalled.
Just at that moment an attractive but harassed-looking man in a harassed tweed jacket comes round the corner. “Oh my God!” he says. “They’ve barricaded themselves in the engine room.”
“Who has?” I say, knowing the answer.
“Are you from St Rodence? I’m Patterson, Bogsdown. We’ve got to do something.”
“The ship is moving again,” says Penny.
“Who’s driving it?” I ask.
“Yoo hoo! Miss Green!” Hermione Spragg is calling to us from the deck above. “Is starboard, right or left?”
“Right,” says Penny.
“What did I tell you!? Now give me that wheel or I’ll scratch your eyes out!” Hermione disappears from view and I hear thumps and shouts of pain and rage. The ship veers hard to port.
“What are the crew doing?” I shriek.
“Most of them are in the brig, or under armed guard.”
“Armed!?”
“Yes. They broke into the armoury.” He ducks just in time as a twelve-inch gun sweeps over his head and trains on the town.
“Are those depth charges?” asks Penny. She is no doubt referring to the large underwater explosions that are sending tidal waves towards the fast disappearing shore.
“I think so. And it’s the anti-aircraft guns that have just shot down that biplane.”
No sooner has the parachute opened than the door of the Captain’s cabin bursts open and a large red-faced man and Miss Bondage and the two lieutenants fall in a heap at our feet. By the time they get up, the plane has crashed into an oil refinery and flames are leaping towards the sky.
“What is this!? A mutiny or subversion?” sobs the Captain. I notice that he is holding a telephone receiver and three inches of flex in his hand.
“I think the children have become a little over-excited,” says Miss Bondage calmly. “Miss Green, will you pop up and tell whoever is in that gun turret to stop sweeping the barrels around like that. Someone could get hurt.”
“My God! The aircraft carrier!” The Captain’s eyes are hanging out on stalks as we zoom towards an enormous wall of grey metal. This must be the end. Goodbye Mum! At the last second the destroyer swerves to one side and we scrape under that curved bit at the front. There is a horrible grinding noise as one of the anchor chains rubs against the ship.
“Oh, no! Get up to the bridge!!” The Captain scrambles to his feet and all three officers start running towards a flight of steps.
“Is nobody going to show us round the ship?” says Miss Bondage. “How very cavalier.” From above our heads we can hear shouts and excited squeals as the destroyer charges towards the harbour wall. “I don’t know what those fools are panicking about,” sniffs Miss Bondage. “The girls are only practising their slalom turns round those buoys.”
“Amazing how the rail sometimes touches the water,” pants Penny as we cling to the door of the captain’s cabin and watch a filing cabinet marked “Top Secret” slide past us and topple over the side.
“I’m going to be sick,” says Mr Patterson.
“Hold on,” says Penny. “We’re swinging over to the other side now.” Suddenly we find ourselves pressed flat against one of the metal studded walls. Ooh, it is uncomfortable!
“Are we out of the harbour yet?” Nobody has to answer my question because I turn my head just in time to see a man in a small lighthouse standing with his hands over his eyes. The image is suspended before me for a fraction of a second and then whipped away as the destroyer charges into the open sea. Behind us, a grisly funeral pyre of black smoke has obliterated the town.
“What are we going to do?” I ask desperately.
“I don’t know,” says Penny. “Would you recognise the Russian flag if you saw it?”
“I think so. Why?”
“I believe there’s one ahead of us.”
“No!” I follow her pointing finger and there is an enormous boat flying the hammer and sickle. We are heading straight for it.
“That’s the Slobovitch,” groans Patterson. “One of their new Brezhnev class atomic cruisers. You realise what this means?”
“World War Three?” says Penny grimly. Patterson nods and turns his face towards the rivets.
“At least we’re not going to know much about it,” I say, trying to be cheerful.
“If only it wasn’t a courtesy visit,” groans Patterson.
Miss Bondage has slid down the deck and is now forty feet away. “I think the Admiralty are going to get a bit sticky about this,” she shouts. “We may have to approach the R.A.F.”
“Stupid old bag!” hisses Penny. “She got us into this mess, and now listen to her.”
Just at that moment, H.M.S. Trueheart veers sharply to the side and I see the crew of the Slobovitch gazing down at us in amazement as we scoot paSt. I look back to where Miss Bondage was hanging on and—she has disappeared!
“Crumbs! She’s fallen overboard,” says Penny.
“We’d better go back for her.”
“Are you mad? This thing isn’t going to stop until it hits France.”
“Poor Miss Bondage. She was very conscientious.”
“I know, I know,” soothes Penny. “I expect there will be a collection for her.”
“It isn’t going to do her much good,” I say, brushing away a tear.
“I meant a collection to set up a memorial,” says Penny. “Every year someone will throw a wreath into the bomb crater, or something like that.”
The destroyer has now righted itself and seems to be trying to catch up with the horizon. On the deck, Patterson groans.
“We’d better get him inside the cabin,” says Penny. “You minister to him and I’ll try and round up the girls.”
All round us there are shouts and screams and a pair of knickers comes fluttering down from above. They look rather big for a girl and they have a slit up the front. I do hope—
“I think they’re playing forfeits,” says Penny. “I’d better get up there before things get out of hand.” She helps me drag Patterson into the cabin and darts off with a light wave—it splashes her heels as she reaches the companion way.
“Uuuuurh. Are we all right?” Patterson grips my arm like a vice and I can see that he is in an advanced state of shock. The hair at his temples has been bleached white by the sun and the skin is stretched tight over his strong features. He smells of pipe smoke and I take an instant liking to him. This was the kind of clean-cut young Englishman I secretly dreamed of meeting when I entered the teaching profession.
“Relax,” I say. “Everything is going to be