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Authors: Lyn Andrews
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carefree childhood. ‘There haven’t been either bonfires or fireworks for the past six years so the kids are enjoying themselves.’
‘I expect there were quite enough “bonfires” and “fireworks” during that time in this city for most people to contend with.’
He nodded grimly. ‘There were indeed.’
They walked for a little while in silence and then Sophie turned to him. ‘I heard you were in the Royal Navy.’
‘I was. I was with Johnny Walker’s lot, God rest him. He was a fine captain.’
Sophie didn’t miss the note of pride mingled with sadness in his voice. ‘What happened to him?’
‘Died of a heart attack, but he was a casualty of the war just the same. He was a young man but he never stopped to rest, never spared himself. We were known as the “hunter-killers” and German U-boat captains hated and feared us – with good cause.’
Sophie nodded, a pang of grief tugging at her heart. ‘You sank submarines?’
‘We did, scores of them, and took pride in doing it. They’d sent too many good ships and fine men to the bottom of the Atlantic.’
‘They killed my husband too. He was a fisherman and the boat was dragged down by its nets. He went out one evening in June three years ago and . . . and never came back. The weather was fine, there was no wind, and U-boats had beenspotted just north of where the
Girl Sophie
was last seen. There was no other explanation.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said sincerely.
‘Oh, there were some folk who said it could possibly have been an accident. That the U-boat’s crew might not have realised the nets were caught in the rigging or on the conning tower . . .’
He shook his head. ‘They’d have known. They had sonar and they’d done it before, off the Scottish coast.’ He felt sorry for her. She was young to be left a widow with a child to bring up, but then there were thousands like her now. ‘Was the boat named after you?’ he asked to try to lighten the conversation. He certainly wasn’t in any rush to get home. He hated having to return to
that
house every night.
‘No. Andrew didn’t own the boat. It was just coincidence. Mr Austin Quirk owned it and his wife was called Sophie too.’
‘I thought most skippers owned their boats. I presume your husband was a skipper?’
She smiled and nodded. She instinctively felt he understood, having been in the Navy, and she felt a sort of gratitude that he’d been instrumental in the destruction of the U-boats. ‘He was. He felt it was just as important to try to keep food on people’s tables as to join up.’
‘It was and just as dangerous, as sadly you both found out.’ They’d reached the bottom of Harebell Street and he slowed his steps even further. He’d much sooner stay talking to herthan face Nora and her slovenly mother. Bertie Richards would still be in the pub.
Despite the fact that she wanted to get home and bathe the cuts, which were now smarting painfully, and have a cup of tea to steady her, Sophie remembered that there would be no warm welcome or decent meal waiting for him. She sighed; he seemed so kind and patient. ‘The Manx system is different to others, I think. The catch is divided into shares between the owner of the boat, the owner of the nets, the skipper and the hands. It’s a fairer way of doing it because it means the skipper and the hands can earn more. Oh, the owners and net owners can make a fortune, they have shares in lots of boats, but it does mean that a good skipper is a real asset and is usually well treated. They all work together; it’s in everyone’s interest. The skippers always inform each other of the whereabouts of the herring shoals, no one would speak to them if they didn’t.’
‘Your Uncle Jim gave it up to come here to work, didn’t he?’
Sophie nodded. ‘Mam said he couldn’t stand all the superstition that went with it.’ She managed a little laugh. ‘Manx people are very superstitious, especially fishermen.’
He smiled
‘I expect there were quite enough “bonfires” and “fireworks” during that time in this city for most people to contend with.’
He nodded grimly. ‘There were indeed.’
They walked for a little while in silence and then Sophie turned to him. ‘I heard you were in the Royal Navy.’
‘I was. I was with Johnny Walker’s lot, God rest him. He was a fine captain.’
Sophie didn’t miss the note of pride mingled with sadness in his voice. ‘What happened to him?’
‘Died of a heart attack, but he was a casualty of the war just the same. He was a young man but he never stopped to rest, never spared himself. We were known as the “hunter-killers” and German U-boat captains hated and feared us – with good cause.’
Sophie nodded, a pang of grief tugging at her heart. ‘You sank submarines?’
‘We did, scores of them, and took pride in doing it. They’d sent too many good ships and fine men to the bottom of the Atlantic.’
‘They killed my husband too. He was a fisherman and the boat was dragged down by its nets. He went out one evening in June three years ago and . . . and never came back. The weather was fine, there was no wind, and U-boats had beenspotted just north of where the
Girl Sophie
was last seen. There was no other explanation.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said sincerely.
‘Oh, there were some folk who said it could possibly have been an accident. That the U-boat’s crew might not have realised the nets were caught in the rigging or on the conning tower . . .’
He shook his head. ‘They’d have known. They had sonar and they’d done it before, off the Scottish coast.’ He felt sorry for her. She was young to be left a widow with a child to bring up, but then there were thousands like her now. ‘Was the boat named after you?’ he asked to try to lighten the conversation. He certainly wasn’t in any rush to get home. He hated having to return to
that
house every night.
‘No. Andrew didn’t own the boat. It was just coincidence. Mr Austin Quirk owned it and his wife was called Sophie too.’
‘I thought most skippers owned their boats. I presume your husband was a skipper?’
She smiled and nodded. She instinctively felt he understood, having been in the Navy, and she felt a sort of gratitude that he’d been instrumental in the destruction of the U-boats. ‘He was. He felt it was just as important to try to keep food on people’s tables as to join up.’
‘It was and just as dangerous, as sadly you both found out.’ They’d reached the bottom of Harebell Street and he slowed his steps even further. He’d much sooner stay talking to herthan face Nora and her slovenly mother. Bertie Richards would still be in the pub.
Despite the fact that she wanted to get home and bathe the cuts, which were now smarting painfully, and have a cup of tea to steady her, Sophie remembered that there would be no warm welcome or decent meal waiting for him. She sighed; he seemed so kind and patient. ‘The Manx system is different to others, I think. The catch is divided into shares between the owner of the boat, the owner of the nets, the skipper and the hands. It’s a fairer way of doing it because it means the skipper and the hands can earn more. Oh, the owners and net owners can make a fortune, they have shares in lots of boats, but it does mean that a good skipper is a real asset and is usually well treated. They all work together; it’s in everyone’s interest. The skippers always inform each other of the whereabouts of the herring shoals, no one would speak to them if they didn’t.’
‘Your Uncle Jim gave it up to come here to work, didn’t he?’
Sophie nodded. ‘Mam said he couldn’t stand all the superstition that went with it.’ She managed a little laugh. ‘Manx people are very superstitious, especially fishermen.’
He smiled
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