Peace and security needs more than a wish, it needs resolve.
Meeting at Rosa Linda
Constable
Mayfield turned the ignition in the pickup and as the engine pulsed into life,
the vehicle speakers filled the cab with the stream from his favourite radio
station which played music 55 minutes out of every hour. A popular, guitar led
track was on air from the duo of Popcaan and Beres Hammond and he murmured the
refrain as he drove from the station parking lot to the Mammee Bay public
docks.
“All
I know is God is holy,
Protect
your life, it’s your one and only.
Evil
people will kill you slowly.”
The pickup slowly
reversed down the ramp until the trailer that was attached it became submerged
in the seawater and the boat that was on the trailer floated, without rocking.
Breeze was a few hours away and it was still early for water traffic to stir up
waves.
The full blaze of
the morning sun had not yet surmounted the bulk of the modest mountain range
that framed the shore and kept the overnight chill in the air. Every now and
then a slim wisp of fog escaped from the thickly wooded valleys that emptied
cold and sparkling streams along the coastline of Mammee parish.
Inspector of
Police Milford was proud of his team. The service boat that was assigned to the
Ocho Man station had undergone its first bow to stern routine maintenance and
was in good order to continue supporting law enforcement in surveillance,
monitoring and search and rescue along 70Km of coastline running from St Basil
parish in the east through the town of Ocho Man and to Cascade River, which was
the border of Mammee Parish and where their jurisdiction ended. There were
larger police areas on the island of Jamaica, but outside of Kingston and
Montego Bay, Ocho Man had the busiest and most diverse boating activity.
He glanced at his
wind-up watch, a discontinued Swiss made piece that was handed down to him when
he graduated from the police academy a few years before and it read 6:55AM; he
also wore a smartwatch, which he used for everything else but checking the
time.
Milford had set
launch time for 7 and the crew were on time.
The vessel was as spotless inside as it was outside, and the low hum of
the twin outboard engines was thrilling. Their police boat was among the
smarter vessels that were now in motion beyond the bay and within the Mammee
bight.
Among the many
bays and ports in the bight, Ocho Man had prestige because it accommodated mega
cruise ships, but almost every bay was exploited for economic activity. East
Bay and the smaller scoops of bays going east had sandy shores that were
protected by a great reef, so were used as fishing beaches, bathing beaches, swimming training
and water sports. Ocho Man bay and the bays to the west were deeper and were
used as docking facilities, including the cruise ship port. Some marinas
catered to sports fishing boats and pleasure cruisers, and others had boats
that did the kinds of sea work that involved grease, chemicals and heavy
machinery.
The Ocho Man
police station was three miles away from the coast within a valley along the
main road going inland and did not have berthing access at any of the many
piers. The first arrangement was to use the customs pier, but that welcome ran
out after a few months as the daily operations of customs was very different
from that of the police, and Milford stopped using it to reduce inter agency
conflict. Now the police boat was mostly on a trailer in the station yard,
unable to respond in less than half an hour.
This morning’s mission for Milford and a
Mayfield was to meet with the owner of a private pier and investigate long term
berthing arrangements.
Rosa Linda bay
was in the east. Typical, for the area, the bay was a narrow, crescent of white
sand backed by a steep hillside that was mostly covered by large, old broadleaf
forest trees and also tropical fruit trees, and where the garden ended, had dense
undergrowth. There was one building in the veritable forest, the Rosa Linda
Villa. Its outstanding feature was a wide, partly covered balcony that was not
too imposing for a relaxed conversation with one companion but also large
enough to accommodate lunch for an extended family or an evening dance party
with friends.
As they entered
the bay, Milford saw that the owner was on the pier being photographed by a
professional glamour crew. Matts was an aspiring disc jockey who came into
inheriting the villa just under two years before. Because she had been brought
up abroad and there had been a longstanding family quarrel, she had not been on
the property since she was five years old, so it was a shock to the family how
it had been bequeathed.
For decades, Rosa
Linda Villa had been a licensed infirmary that was dedicated to support persons
who were recovering from substance abuse. Matts was working in entertainment on
a cruise liner and for two years ignored going down to Jamaica to take over the
property; then COVID-19 shut down the industry and she found herself faced with
living expenses and no income. She divested herself of almost everything but
her music and settled into making a life for herself at the abandoned property.
She was able to undertake some immediate repairs, but had no cash for
remodelling.
One day, she took
a selfie of the bay from the balcony with the caption, “my Linda, my world” and
was surprised with the number of likes and favourable comments about the beauty
of the location and if she had visitors or served lunch or dinner. From that
time, she pushed alluring photos of her life on the property as a way to get
bookings. The crew photo paused from
their work as the police boat crossed their lens and pulled up at the pier.
Milford inspected
the pier and saw that the wooden posts needed to be changed, but could last
perhaps up to another storm. The boardwalk was a mix of new and old, smooth
brown and warped grey, planks. He then looked up to the cut stone steps that
led from the beach to the villa, and estimated that it was a five-minute drive
from the police station, siren blaring - and if it was not raining - another
three minutes to run from the parking lot, down the steps and along the
boardwalk to get to the end of the pier - that was if it was a clear day - add
another five minutes to navigate that journey safely by night. From this
location, it would take them about 10 minutes to respond to a call by boat. He
hailed Matts and asked for permission to come ashore. His mission was to have
her agree to use her pier as docking for Police Boat Mammee, which they called
Mam.
For about a year,
the arrangements at Rosa Linda worked beautifully for the parish. The water
police burnished a reputation for being able to respond quickly to calls.
Meanwhile, other
property owners quietly grumbled that Matts was getting preferential treatment
from the police, and some even froze her out of local society, not that she was
interested.
They got national
attention on their reaction to a pre-dawn call from the coastguard to support
them to find and intercept a vessel that had come in from international waters
and was now hiding in the western mangroves. The police team thoroughly went
along the fringe of the mangrove forest when, just ahead of them an engine
roared to life and a go-fast boat crossed the bow and sped off into the pale
early morning light.
Mam was pressed
into hot pursuit and Milford, using local knowledge of the bight, got ahead of
them while Mayfield pulled down information on the hull registration, which he
transmitted to coastguard and police cyber command. Milford called the boaters on the
open channel to stop and submit to a search of documents, but the crew ignored
them. Mam backed the
boat into a reef where they expected it would slow down to avoid getting stuck
on jagged coral. That never happened, the fleeing captain skilfully found
enough breaks in the rocks, and kept going.
When they were
about to make a break for open water, Milford instructed the constable to shoot
across the bow, again, they did not stop. Then coast guard, was now in position
to open its guns on the outboard engines, and very quickly the boat was disabled
and its crew of four detained. The boat registration was for Republica
Encomienda, and as a large amount of US cash was found in bags on board, it
seemed that the joint operation had intercepted contraband transporters.
A few days later,
a court hearing was held on the coast guard vessel and, in the company of their
country’s chargé d'affaires, all four were
found guilty of immigration charges and scheduled to be deported after a short
imprisonment.
It was a
celebrated case, and Milford was hopeful that he would receive a note of
acknowledgement from high command, it never came.
One month afterwards, he answered his cell phone from
behind his desk at the station.
“ ’Spec, the
boat gone, Mam gone.”
“Mayfield,
what you talking about?”
“Me up yah
at Rosa Linda and the rope cut Inspector, dem teif the boat last night.”
Milford was on the pier in eight minutes and so was
Matts, who he had also called.
“So what
happen to the security camera system you have been promising to put in?”
Matts was not going to volunteer for a public
flogging.
“So what
happen to your vessel tracking system? I kind of delayed the cameras because I
had to install some new equipment for a party at the end of the month. I was
going to use that money to finish up the security system....Just a few more
days and we would have caught them on camera, but cameras won’t stop determined
smugglers.”
Making the call to his commanding officer, c/o, Milford
realised that he had already heard about the theft. The Executive Officer had a tightness in his voice and Milford knew that, although he was in the
capital far away, his c/o was taking heat for the theft of the boat.
“Unsecured
boat on a private pier Milford? Not only was that vessel government property,
but it was a gift from one of our most reliable international partners. This
matter does not only concern the police, it involves other ministries. Our
minister is scheduled to give an update on the boats at a bilateral event
coming up. There is no way that this loss can be looked at as anything but
carelessness.”
“Sorry sir.”
“Don’t insult
me, Milford. Sorry does not even begin to solve this. I am going to order an
audit today about the other floating assets in the marine division. If anyone
else is using a private pier, that has to cut out now. If this means that all
the boats have to be parked at marine headquarters or the commissioner’s office
and drive them out to locations when they get a response call, that is what we
will be doing. Not even one more boat must be lost. I expect your report about
this travesty on my desk before the end of the day.”
Milford rang off.
Without a boat like Mam, the marine police became
nearly irrelevant to the parish. Milford and his team were now making calls to
charter fishing boats to help out fishermen who were having engine in
difficulties out at sea. The police borrowed dinghies that were owned by hotel
watersports departments to keep control of unauthorised activities along
beaches and the foreshore. Document checks of boat operators and the catch of
fishers during closed lobster and conch season simply stopped and harvesting
from the sea became a free-for-all. The bridge and marine engineers now had to
rent a boat when they needed to check sea walls, piers and other public assets
that needed to be inspected while on the water. Most of all, the entire
coastline was now unprotected from piracy, and activities that were related to
trafficking, narcotics and gun running.
Mam never showed up in any Jamaican port and it was generally accepted
that international smugglers had stolen it. The bottom line, was that Mammee
parish was hurting and the community needed their police boat returned to work,
but law enforcement did not know where it was.
One day, Mayfield asked Milford if he could take a
visitor into his office, Milford agreed and in a few moments a man was ushered
inside. Although he was wearing his hygiene mask, Milford recognised him as the
highly competent boat captain called Turtle. A few months before, Turtle had
returned to his home in Ocho Man after doing a few years in the US federal
prison system. He wanted to reactivate his coxswain license, but no JP would
undertake to sign his documents, which left him angered that he had no criminal
record in Jamaica and was being blocked from earning from his trade.
He had come, as he did at least once a week to
complain in the police guard room, but today had said something that caused
Mayfield to take him to see Milford.
“Inspector,
I thought that you would want to hear what Turtle was saying out there.”
Turtle was very annoyed with himself for allowing his
anger to loose his tongue, but at least he now had the attention of an officer.
“Not no
secret, so I don’t know why I am in here. You want to know about your boat? Those
same smugglers from Encomienda were upset about how you handled them, so they
took it over to Clotilde, stripped it clean and had it as a trophy. The video
was going around on social media. You never did see it?” Turtle grunted, but
did not laugh, Milford thanked him for his time and let him go.
“So boss,
what bout me license? You can’t do anything for me?”
He did not get an answer.
Milford reached out to the chargé
d'affaires for Encomienda, they knew each by sight as the diplomat was
regularly in Ocho Man as his countrymen were regularly called before the courts
for being in conflict with the law. Milford, asked if he had heard anything
about the boat that was taken, and he found the reply astonishing.
“Milford, you don’t know? I received a
dispatch very soon after the boat went missing and your government has the
detailed communication. Your police boat was recovered completely stripped of
everything except the paint on the hull. It is in the water right now in the
customs dock in our capital Clotilde.”
“You have it! Can we get it back?”
“Not on its own power. No engines, no
electrical equipment.”
“But, what if we tow it back to Ocho Man?”
“If you have the boat to do it, yes, it can
be done.”
Milford carefully
requested a 15-minute telephone appointment through his c/o’s secretary. He
needed to lay out a proposal which did not implicate the force as being
unconcerned about its property that was gathering crustaceans below the water
line in a foreign land.
The Police Boat
Mammee “Mam” is a 7.75 metre Boston Whaler. A vessel that could carry 12 and be
crewed by a single person. It was manoeuvrable in the marinas and also around
the coral fringed coastline. Its two 350 hp engines could not overtake a
go-fast boat in a straight line chase, but there were other variables in a
pursuit.
Shortly after it
was delivered into their hands, Mam pursued a go-fast boat until it was out of
view, only for them to catch up with it as the smugglers had run out of petrol
before they could make it to their hiding place.
On another
occasion, on a fishing bank, Milford had resolved a heated dispute between
charter boat captains and fishermen about an entanglement of lobster pots and
fishing lines.
For weeks, they
ticketed watersports operators who violated proper use of the harbour and its
established channels. A few months afterwards, the public health officer
reported that there was a marked decline in trauma cases that were caused by
boating collisions in the bight. Mam saved lives, livelihoods and kept the
peace. The community needed it returned.
The corporal patched through the call to the
c/o, and after polite salutations, Milford got to the point.
“Sir, once the PB is back here sir, we, the
local station, will raise the funds to bring it back into service, engines,
navigation equipment, everything. The community is hurting without a police
boat and I can vouch for them giving the support.”
“So who is going to crew and sail 400
nautical miles to get it and tow it 400 nautical miles back?”
“Well, agency to agency sir, at your level
in the force, you can approach the coast guard for support.”
“Inspector,
that is not how it works. The force does not approach the military outside of
established protocols. We have your report in hand, which is damning in its
total carelessness in securing government property. The next decisions will be
at a more strategic level. I consider this matter to be closed right now. Your
note to my office did not have any other matter to discuss...”
“Yes, sir, I
have nothing else. Thank you for your time.”
Milford
realised that he was completely on his own, and was also the fall guy if and
when the loss of the boat became a public scandal. His career was on the line,
and he decided to reach out to the coast guard on his own. He knew the
lieutenant who captained the boat that patrolled that side of the island, they
had been on inter-agency training together abroad and had years of cordial
relationship on and off the job.
“Lieutenant,
greetings, Milford here from Ocho Man. How you going?”
“Good to
hear from you Milford. I am ok, you know. What’s happening?”
Milford
explained, and as he did, the vocal responses from the lieutenant moved from
agreeable, to short to simply silent. Even when Milford finished, there was no
response for a few seconds, then his correspondent spoke, and slowly.
“That is a
suicide mission Milford. I cannot expose my men to that. Let me explain it to
you. There is no regular commercial shipping route from Jamaica to Porto
Clotilde but it is a route that is very heavily used by smugglers. For hours
you will be in unpatrolled waters, outside of radio range. Piracy is less of a
risk on a military ship, but two or three smaller boats with desperadoes acting
together would be a present danger.
“Aside from
the human element, we have the natural elements. The approach to Clotilde is
fringed with mangroves and outside of that is miles of uncharted reefs. The
port does not have a good reputation for having properly maintained signals or
adequate pilotage staff. You can be floating offshore for a day or more waiting
on a pilot to take you in.
“Believe me
Milford, I understand your dilemma, we need the PB back in service, but the coast
guard cannot undertake that mission. Get a professional salvage company
Milford, or better yet, ship it in a container back to Jamaica, that’s what I
recommend. Sorry my brother.”
Both options, Milford knew, would be beyond even his
resources. You could buy a new boat for either of those services, and the
mission was to retrieve the Mam, not replace it.
Before they had ended the call, Milford’s phone pinged
that another call was coming in. He looked at the name that came up on the
screen without surprise. He had signed the no objection permit for a day party
today at Rosa Linda, and a party at Rosa Linda came with problems. Milford
pushed back thoughts of Mam, and switched on to the immediate demands of his
job.
The service
vehicle pulled up to the gate of Rosa Linda and immediately a loose gathering
of young party goers standing along the roadside beside their cars and motor
bikes started pulling up their masks. Beside Rosa Linda was another villa
called Rudder Bay. It was the owner of Rudder Bay who had called Milford to
complain.
Constable Mayfield gave some clear hand directions and
soon the vehicles near to Rudder Bay started backing away from its gateway. The
security guard at Rosa Linda opened the gate and allowed the service vehicle to
drive inside.
The second part of the complaint from the neighbour
was noise nuisance.
The villa and its grounds were active with young
people who, unless they were an obvious couple, or a trio of friends, were
spaciously distanced. He did not observe clustering or bungling. Small marquees
and speaker boxes in the garden encouraged dispersed enjoyment of the party.
There was no dance floor, but specific areas were emphasized with backdrops or
drapery or spotlights to encourage bubbles of friends to exhibit their outfits
or their moves. An arrangement of video cameras also projected images of the
patrons on surfaces, giving an illusion of being in a vibrant and moving crowd.
In the patio area was Matts, herself, doing what she
loved, selecting music that moved an audience. She glanced up at her guests, to
do a temperature check on the mood and spotted Milford and Mayfield. She
guessed that it was about a public nuisance matter, and having decided that she
could not prevent sound waves moving across open air into her neighbour’s yard,
had a musical plan in place.
Matts had been playing a set of Afro Pop, gently
introducing emerging artistes to the patrons in-between the Anjelique Kidjo and
Baaba Maal staples. She now tapped her special effects button to bring in a
police siren sound and then started the breathy and gospel flavoured vocals of
Diana King’s version of the Culture Club hit, Do You Really Want to Hurt Me,
“Give
me time to realise my crime
Let me love and steal, I have danced inside your eyes, how can I be
real?”
The tempo then changed into a reggae
pop.
Do you really want to hurt me? Do you really want to make me cry?”
On the break Matts switched to the chart
topper from King’s Tougher Than Love album.
“Hey, what goes around
comes around.
Lady, treat her like a lady
You’ll make a good girl
crazy
If you don't treat her
like a lady.”
Milford got the message and laughed
inside, but his exterior was a blank canvas.
Matts signalled to the
relief DJ and walked past the fun-loving mingling and met the lawmen at the
edge of the balcony overlooking her bay. The afternoon wind was up and the
waves curled and gently rolled onto the shore. He noticed that a boat that was
the same model as Mam was berthed at the pier.
She spoke through her mask
and nodded over her shoulder.
“Neighbour complaining ‘bout the noise?”
Milford looked at her
evenly in the eyes. This side of the parish had been cherished as a quiet
getaway, owned for decades by the same set of families. Some of the changes
that Matts was bringing was not welcomed: the noise from her parties, the
crowd, and the kind of music that they preferred. But, he thought, of all the
property owners, she was the one who he approached to berth Mam. He knew the
others would demand a fee, or not want a mere Inspector of Police to approach
them or others would say yes and immediately start demanding special favours.
It was not her fault at all that he was in this career tanking predicament.
“Just turn down the speakers that are
closer to that side of the property and get your security to direct traffic
better. OK?”
“I will”, she said and noticed that he was
looking at the boat tied to the pier. “I actually got in all the security
cameras now, just so you know. That’s my boyfriend’s boat.”
“That’s nice,” said Milford, swallowing
more candid thoughts. “That boat design is almost exclusively used by law
enforcement, what kind of boating does he do?”
“Well, he doesn’t do anything more than
drive it around, you know.”
Milford looked at her.
“No, I don’t know. Is that him down there?”
“Yes.” When he moved away to the steps that
led down to the beach she added. “You know him.”
She remained on the
balcony for a few more moments, then reclaimed her space at the turntable.
Mayfield and Milford
walked down to the pier, edging past couples or small groups and fell in step
on the boardwalk. When Milford saw the face of the occupant of the boat he
exclaimed, “Rennie Buckfield!”
The youth, who Milford
knew was attending secondary school but three years before and had been in and
out of colleges since them, gave a playful salute and invited them on board.
Buckfield’s family owned a little bit of every kind of business in the town and
the older relatives managed them. His generation, not wanting to be under the
control of their parents, aunts and uncles and grandparents, found a way to
migrate or work overseas as soon as they graduated from college. A few returned
to take over businesses when one of the older folks died. Rennie was not
interested in business and not interested in migrating so was settling into the
role of bon vivant. It was inevitable that he had linked up with Matts.
Milford was convinced that
even if Rennie could produce a coxswain license, he was not a proficient
sailor. He had never known him to be interested in boating until now, maybe it
was his latest fad.
As Milford moved to step
on board rapid barking started and he quickly withdrew his leg. A medium sized
dog was beside Buckfield, staring at him and growling. It then charged forward
and put its front legs on the gunwale and started barking again.
“Very nice vessel Rennie. Where have you
been sailing?”
“Just around here, Rosa Linda Bay, ...Would
you like to try it out Spec?”
When no one moved, he then
realised the problem.
“My bad.” He whispered, “Down Cyber!” His
simple words calmed the dog which retreated to sit beside his feet, head still
alert.
While Mayfield checked the documents,
Milford had a good look at the vessel. When he learned that it was Turtle who
had moved it there for him, that was enough to satisfy him that it was
seaworthy and then he drove the boat beyond the bay and around the coastline to
the east. Milford had to agree that the sound from the party was could be heard
from quite a distance, but it was not a violation of daytime noise nuisance
regulations.
Lying in bed that night, watching video clips of news of the day on his phone,
Milford saw that a boat that was overloaded with people travelling as refugees
had safely reaching the shores of Florida. The pictures of the size of the
craft and number of souls aboard was heart rending, as the outcome would have
been different if weather or mechanical problems had beset them.
That was when the
thought of taking a small 7 metre boat from Jamaica to Clotilde crossed his
mind. All the problems of a ship going across the shallow areas and navigating
patches of reefs and mangroves would be eliminated. It was a dream, and he fell
asleep feeling the motion of water under his feet as he cut through wave after
green wave heading to recover their police boat.
By early morning,
the following day, his phone was pinging continuously as members of the community
sent him videos and angry voice clips because the garbage from the Linda Rosa
day party was now strewn along the roadside and would be blown for miles when
the wind picked up. Matts was also pinging him voice clips stating that she was
arranging with a private contractor to clean it up at the earliest opportunity.
Milford drove out
to the area, and decided to drop in on the suffering owner of Rudder Bay. After
he spent half an hour listening to how Matts was a bad neighbour, the
conversation drifted to the good old days.
“So this young lady should realise that the
name of her villa, Rosa Linda, should be respected. Not to treat the place as
merely a way to make a money from entertainment, but show some regard for her
noble ancestors and for the sea.”
Milford realised
that he had stopped listening and asked again for the explanation.
“All the older residents of Mammee parish
know this story. The original Matts was a boy who was rescued from a US ship
that was trafficking Africans into the USA to be sold into bondage, as slaves.
It ran aground on the Rosa Linda bank, half way between Encomiendas and
Jamaica. The captives were landed in Ocho Man and Matts was put in the care of
the owner of a shipyard that was right here. He was raised as a member of the
Stormont family, married a daughter of the owner and eventually ran the family business.
Later on, the couple were given half of the property, which is why the two
gates are so close. On one side was the ship yard, which is my side, and the
other side was called Rosa Linda and this was the Matts family home. Matts
never forgot his experience on Rosa Linda and his home was known to be
welcoming to seamen who needed extended rest.
“A couple generations later the family
converted it into a well-needed convalescence for sick seamen and then it
became a drug rehab facility. You see, it has always served people.
“Young people don’t care to ask about where
things came from. They were born flying, not standing on the shoulders of those
who came before. I am a Stormont and we and the Matts are cousins. Rudder Bay
got its name because our shipyard provided high quality carved hardwood
fittings for boats. I still have all the tools, but we don’t do that work
anymore. The Matts and I are family and Rosa Linda has been in the family for
now more than 100 years. That should mean something.”
Excited, Milford
got back into his office and searched the Internet for information about the
Rosa Linda bank. He had formed an idea in his mind that a small boat could meet
the representatives from Encomienda on the Rosa Linda bank and do a transfer of
Mam there. He called the coast guard lieutenant and laid out the idea.
“I cannot say about 100 years ago Milford,
but today the Rosa Linda is completely submerged, it is not like a cay, you
cannot see it with the naked eye.”
“I actually did not know that....”
The thought of
the trip, stirred up the adventurous spirit of the lieutenant. He joined the
military because of a thirst for a career that would take him outdoors, where
he could use his mind and his muscle to accomplish things. This was a unique
opportunity to use his navigational skills to cross the Caribbean and be
immersed more closely with nature that he could be on a ship.
“You sound like you have a boat in mind
Milford, one of your police units?”
“No, a private vessel, but I need crew. Can
I keep you in mind?”
“Let me know after you get the paperwork
sorted out,” he replied crisply. They rang off.
Paperwork....Milford
supposed that meant a call to his commanding officer, he could not speak
directly to foreign affairs...or could he? He called the charge d’affaires for
Encomienda and they decided to meet up at Rosa Linda.
Matts did not
have a tavern license, so served them bottled juice drink under the shade of
one of the majestic Mammee trees that were on the property. There, they could
talk privately and enjoy the view of the bay. Buckfield’s boat was tied to the
pier and Buckfield, with Cyber at his ankles, was engaged with one of the
security cameras on the grounds.
The diplomat had
listened to Milford and was now preparing to reply.
“Using the report that I received from my
government, I can recommend that the boat be transferred to the custody of the
Jamaican government and that transfer be executed at our Rosa Linda bank
border. There will be some administrative costs, but the boat will be back in
your hands.”
Milford felt a
wave of excitement overwhelm him as he put the pieces of a plan together. He looked at the table with the two glass
bottles of cold drink that were now wet with tracks of water draining down to
the table coasters. The coasters were cork discs with the fading words “Sweet
Jamaica Festival 77”. It seems that Matts is keeping some of the items that she
found in the house.
Milford
considered how to approach Buckfield about borrowing his boat for the trip, and
decided to talk to Matts first. She seemed to have significant influence over
her boyfriend. Matts called him back to say that Buckfield had not only agreed
to lend his boat, but was excited about going on the trip.
“Matts, Buckfield is not a sailor. He can
only circle the boat around your bay, this is not a trip for learners.”
“That is his only requirement, Spec, that
he, and Cyber, get to go.”
The lieutenant
was not happy to hear about it and saw the owner and his dog as on board
hazards, but still accepted the mission.
The final member
of the crew was Turtle. Mayfield was relieved that he was not asked to
participate.
Over the next
days, Matts sealed off the Rosa Linda dining room as their meeting base.
Mayfield, Milford, Buckfield, the lieutenant, the chargé
d'affaires and Turtle. They mapped out the route, and calculated the amount of
extra fuel to carry. By quiet solicitation in the community, they secured and
installed additional communication and navigation equipment, safety gear and
provisions. They had several discussions on the specifications for the rope
that would be good for towing a 7 metre boat on open water for several hours.
Finally,
the chargé d'affaires received an email from his office with the document of
transfer and the date and time to meet at the Rosa Linda two weeks hence. The
formal process was for the note to be sent to the foreign affairs office, which
would then go to the defence ministry, and after that, the police. Milford rejoiced that the document had a date,
as without it, they could be waiting weeks on a reply from the authorities.
A
few days before the due date, Milford received a call from his commanding
officer.
“I see here a letter about a boat transfer.
This just cannot come out of the blue just so. Tell me, you know something
about this?”
“Yes sir, we learned that Encomiendas was
making preparations to meet us at their border with the boat.”
“So who is going to get it? A cruise ship?
It needs a government agent to sign for it.”
“We have a private boat sir, and local crew
that knows the sea, and I will sign the transfer.”
“Oh, so you have a plan without involving
your divisional leader. At this point, I do not want to be involved, so hear
what. Go on with your plan and I will forward the transfer document to you 24
hours before. What you do with it, is
your decision.”
The rendezvous time on the Rosa Linda was 10AM, Jamaica
time, which meant setting off from 5AM, if the weather was favourable. As it
turned out, a Nor'Wester was coming in, and the crew decided to head out two
hours earlier to be ahead of the weather and get to the meeting point earlier
rather than later.
At 6PM the evening before, they started loading the boat and
the boat rope was delivered at that time.
“We can’t take all
of this,” the lieutenant objected. This is twice as much as we need and there
is nowhere proper to store it onboard. The crew is going to hand over their tow
rope to us, so what is the point of even taking this load?”
Turtle spoke up.
“Is so water
police and coast guard run boat my boss? You can’t go out and rely on people
who you don’t know for a basic supply like your own rope. Just relax, I will
sort this out.”
They rested at Rosa Linda that evening and night and at 3AM,
they were ready to pull out.
Matts was at the dock with the security guard and hugged
herself as they pulled away, she was scared that the trip may not be successful
for all and watched until the lights of the boat merged into the moonlit line
of the horizon. She then went to the library that was being converted into a
disco, and stayed awake through the night by playing music that reminded her of
her fun times on the cruise ship, as it soothed her.
In his apartment, the chargé d'affaires sent a final well-wishing text to
Milford at 3AM, and then put down his phone. He stopped the great emotions that
were welling up in his chest and instead clasped his hands and prayed for the
safety of the crew and the success of the voyage.
The first
few hours of the journey were easy and the crew were quietly light hearted and
optimistic. They made good pace and the weather was holding calm when they
arrived on the waters that were above the sunken atoll of the Rosa Linda bank.
The sea was a clear aquamarine and there were whitecaps coming in from the
west. They kept throttling in a wide circle so as not to drift away, all the
time watching the western sky dampen darker.
At 10:30
they became concerned that they had not seen the other boat appear and there
was no way to reach them. They circled for another hour and then the hull of a
ship came into view towing a Boston Whaler, it was Mam, looking as cheerful and
ready to do business despite its encrusted hull and fully gutted insides. None
of them expected a ship to do the towing, and that fact presented fresh
challenges.
Through
hand signals, the Encomienda crew indicated that the Jamaican representative
was to join them by climbing on the outside ladder that was let down from the
deck of the ship. The sea was now bearing one metre swells. The sky directly
above them was clear, but bad weather was not too far away.
The hulls
of the two vessels were touching each other and Milford reached out and grabbed
the ladder, and focused on his breathing while climbing slowly up to the deck.
Each time the ship rose, he felt his concentration being pried from him. As his
second leg was planted on the deck of the ship, he hurled for the first time.
The crew
hustled him into a cabin and spoke to him in Spanish which he did not
understand. He signed papers without reading them and placed them in a plastic
envelope which he then pushed between his undershirt and his chest, then faced
the torture of climbing back down to his boat. He collapsed on the deck from
the disabling seasickness.
The
lieutenant steered directly behind the ship. Then the ship’s crew threw down
the free end of the rope that was tied to Mam. Buckfield used a hook to get the
rope out of the water, then handed it to Turtle who first threaded in a car
tyre then knotted their boat rope to the one that was thrown down to them. He
lashed the ropes to both the port and starboard cleats creating a neat Y shaped
tow line with the tyre dangling between the boats as a stabiliser for the
rudderless Mam.
Even while
they were doing this, the ship had already turned and was steadily becoming
smaller as it returned to its base. The lieutenant kept his nose pointed north
east while the others held their heads down as it had started to rain.
After about
half an hour, Milford realised he was feeling a bit better and remarked to
himself that they were making faster pace than before. He looked behind to see
the dangling rope and not a sight of Mam anywhere between the grey sky and the
nearly dark sea. He tried to shout a warning but in his fright and panic,
nothing came out. It was Turtle who saw the intensity in his eyes and followed
his trembling finger to see what was not there.
It was a
scramble from there with the group having no awareness on what direction the
boat could have floated away and how much longer before. A decision was taken
to go in circles and everyone assigned a section of sea to watch. It was after
half an hour before the boat was spotted and they made a chase for it. Turtle pulled out unused rope and again
created two sets of knotting. They pulled up alongside Mam, and very quickly
Buckfield climbed aboard and Turtle threw over the new rope to him, which he
caught and held. Turtle then climbed over and noticed that the original rope
had burst. Together, he and Buckfield secured the new rope to the prow of Mam.
With each pull as he knotted the rope, Turtle felt a wave of thankful assurance
of the gift of the strength in his arms, and that his fingers almost worked
without his thoughtful mind to solve the immediate problems that they now
faced.
The
lieutenant checked the gas levels. All souls were alive and they were heading
home, but deeper into bad weather. Throttling on the Rosa Linda for an hour
then the extra time searching for Mam after the rope broke had caused them to
use up the additional containers of fuel. Depending on how bad the weather got,
they may have enough to get them back into Jamaican territorial waters, but not
enough to get them back into port.
Squalls and
breeze now buffeted them and backed up the water to form waves that were up to
two metres high. As they pushed onwards, the slick, barnacled, black body of a
whale breached beside them and then heavily crashed into the sea, casting the
boat in a new sea dance caused by its splash.
“Bull sperm whale,” said Turtle.
The whale
did not leave them alone but travelled alongside them for some minutes quite
close, breaching and crashing down, causing both boats to rock in contrast to
the natural rolling of the waves and to take in briny waterfalls of water. At
times, the creature looked at them out of its unlashed mammalian eye that sat
within a head as big as the bow of a ship, its white mouth gaped, demonstrating
long sharp teeth. The pupils moved up and across as it took in the spectacle of
the two boats and decided again to slap its fluke and splash more water into
the boat. The experience made the lieutenant think about life. He had no time
at this moment to marvel in the wonders of the natural world, but saved any
fragment of his mind that was not terrified to beseech a higher power for their
safety.
Then the
whale dived, but that was no comfort to Turtle who had seen this kind of
behaviour before. When it breached, Cyber was ready for it and kept up a
barking and a growling that the whale was sure to have heard. The whale pulled
away from the lead boat, and instead lined up with Mam, which bore Cyber’s
master.
The dog
seemed to grow even more agitated, and all but jumped out of the boat. The
lieutenant decided to turn around and go closer to Mam so that the ferocious
barking of the dog could be heard by the whale, and it did back off and then
seemed to make a decision to change direction.
Turtle
called out and beckoned the lieutenant to veer right. Then the others saw the
top of a small tree. The lieutenant worked out that Turtle was directing him to
find the rock or small island and anchor them there until the storm passed.
It was a
rocky island with pieces of old rope and old metal tied to or stuck in various
parts of it, seafarers had been saved here, or had died here before. The anchor
was lowered on the lee side, and they found that it held fast. The lieutenant
switched off the engine, and they lived through every experience of the long
moments. The obliterating sound of the waves crashing against each other and
against the island and the boats; the hard, driving rain splattering the ocean
and swirling around in every direction from the wind; the coldness of the air
although it was the middle of the afternoon; the salt in their eyes and mouths
and noses. The yearning for fresh water but also for dryness from the
overwhelming water above, and also below. The intense rocking and lurching and
jolting of the sea, every now and then, threw a fish or a piece of kelp in the
boat and then out again. Milford continually emptied his stomach, and with each
break, offered thanks for the reputation of the Boston Whaler company that their
boats were unsinkable and that it would get them home.
The
sunshine returned before the sea calmed and they saw that there was a wreck of
an upturned fisherman’s canoe on the small island, and then miraculously, a man
crawled out from under the boat and with a bit more manoeuvring, he joined
Milford and the lieutenant on their boat.
It was a
Jamaican fisherman and he told them exactly where they were, and assured them
that they would be within cell range if they drove another few leagues. They
were able to call Ocho Man station and before they ran out of petrol, the coast
guard ship came into view. The ship provided petrol and the lieutenant was able
to drive into Ocho Man Bay, towing Mam.
The pickup slowly
reversed down the new ramp until the trailer attached it was submerged in the
seawater and the boat that was attached, immediately rocked up and down with
the brisk, afternoon breeze that was freshening Rosa Linda Bay and in fact, the
entire environs of Mammee bight. The driver was not Mayfield, he had been
promoted to corporal and transferred to another station.
Buckfield,
wearing police trainee denim, stepped into Mam and deftly parked it into
position at the end of the pier, his boat was tied like its twin at the other
side of the pier. Beside him, feet on the prow, was Cyber wearing a dog life
jacket with an embroidered police shield appliqued on the side.
Matts was at the
turntable under the Mammee tree
“In
this arms the babies cradle
In his eye the evil tremble
From his heart the mighty water flows
So softly as we seek salvation in this
righteous revelation,
Give some love and inspiration now.
Praise Him, the Almighty Father.
This afternoon
was a ceremony to commemorate the return of Mam to service and it seemed that
all of Ocho Man was there. Mam had been in dry dock for the better part of a
year, and after strenuous fund raising, was now fully outfitted, examined and
insured. A formal arrangement was also in place for Rosa Linda Bay pier to be
the official dock for the Ocho Man police. The major leaders of the town were
on hand to say a few words in honour of the event and also the many citizens
who helped to raise money - from cookie and bake sales, concerts and private
donations - that together brought the boat back into service.
The speech of the
head of the chamber of commerce actually declared that Ocho Man now owned the
boat, and not the police, and this declaration was received with warm applause.
A shipbuilding
colleague of Matts from her cruise ship days had visited Rosa Linda and had
seen Rudder Bay. He and Stormont were in discussions about leasing the property
to build sailing yachts with foils.
The coast guard
lieutenant had been promoted to Captain and celebrated this by growing a beard.
Turtle had been approved for a coxswain license, and was now always employed
and quickly saving up to buy a small party catamaran so that he did not have to
go further than 30 minutes from landfall. Matts and Buckfield were planning to
get married as soon as he graduated from the police academy. After their trip
to Rosa Linda bank, he realised that deep down he had always wanted to be in
police service. He confessed this to Matts who had been through so much emotional
anguish when they made the trip that she was distressed to know that he was
determined to follow his calling.
What finally got
her to accept it, is when she realised how angry it made her to see that he was
suffering because his family was set against him doing anything but go into
business. Matts clasped her to his bosom, grateful to have found that caring
person to nourish his soul.
Milford’s career
was still stifled, but there was one big benefit from being stationed in Ocho
Man. He saw that the charge ‘d affaires was sitting on the balcony drinking a
cool juice drink. As soon as the ceremonials were over, he would join him up
there.
THE END
Gwyneth Harold Davidson
CONCRETE COWBOYS
Mary Magdalene. She is not named among the 12 apostles but was absolutely there where and when it mattered.
THE EMIGRANT
THE BLIND CHRIST From adolescence, Michael believes God is within each person and each of us can be like Christ and perform miracles. He never does perform a miracle and he never gives up. Each person who puts their faith in him feels comforted that they have been prayed for by a good man.
A PROMISED LAND A book that gives the mind set behind the actions of President Barak Obama just before he entered politics to the assassination of Osama Bin Laden in 2011. He comes across as a thoughtful person who decided that to make the changes that he wanted to see in the world, he had to be the President of the USA. I have not read his three earlier memoirs, Dreams From My Father, the Audacity of Hope and Change We Can Believe In, so am actually wondering why he needed to cover his pre presidential life in this fourth review of his life.The book is careful to honour many people throughout that political experience and it was interesting indeed to read how he describes how he valued those relationships. Above all, he takes special care in writing about his life partner, her merits and how much he values her as a person and as the mother of the children both of whom he adores.
THE MAGIC OF CONFIDENCEJust completed the illustrated children's chapter book The Magic of Confidence by Janelle Murdock. 12 year old Danielle and her friends are not having a good school experience and are a bit anxious and fearful about the future. Her Principal is severe and her parents contain her expectations about herself. Unexpected magic starts to happen and Danielle finds that she is more capable than she believed, but will it be enough for her to overcome her challenges?
DAUGHER OF NARCISSUS
