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Quarterdeck
A REVIEW CELEBRATING NAUTICAL & HISTORICAL FICTION
Inside
Joan Druett
Douglas Reeman’s D-Day
Julian Stockwin’s Written Treasures
June 2013
Contents
Quarterdeck
A REVIEW CELEBRATING
NAUTICAL & HISTORICAL FICTION
JUNE 2013
FEATURES
06
JOAN DRUETT
New Zealand-based historian and novelist Joan Druett
discuses her new Promise of Gold Trilogy
10
DOUGLAS REEMAN’S D-DAY
Best-selling novelist Douglas Reeman shares memories
of the greatest invasion in history
15
WRITTEN TREASURES
Julian Stockwin writes about his reference library
and recommended titles
04
SCUTTLEBUTT
News from the nautical and historical book trade
BY GEORGE!
Chatham Dockyard
17
269-372-4673
EDITOR & MANAGING DIRECTOR
George D. Jepson
[email protected]
McBOOKS
press
Quarterdeck is distributed by
McBooks Press, Inc.
ID Booth Building
520 North Meadow Street
Ithaca, NY 14850
DEPARTMENTS
05
Quarterdeck is published monthly by
Tall Ships Communications
6952 Cypress Bay Drive
Kalamazoo, MI 49009
OPERATIONS DIRECTOR
Amy A. Yeoman
[email protected]
COLUMNS
03
TALL SHIPS
COMMUNICATIONS
COMMENTARY
Grand Cayman or Tortuga by Michael Aye
BOOKSHELF
Catch up on US and UK titles in nautical and
historical fiction and related history
PUBLISHER
Alexander Skutt
607-272-2114
[email protected]
www.mcbooks.com
ART DIRECTOR
Panda Musgrove
[email protected]
EDITORIAL DIRECTOR
EMERITUS
Jackie Swift
[email protected]
ON THE COVER:
Detail from marine artist Geoffrey
Huband’s “Badge of Glory,” cover
art from the Douglas Reeman
novel.
© Tall Ships Communications
2 | Q | JUNE 2013
Scuttlebutt
Richard Woodman
Richard Woodman
The King’s Chameleon by
English novelist and maritime
historian
Richard
Woodman
will be
launched in
the United
Kingdom in
July by
Severn
House
publishers.
The American edition will be
published by Severn House in
November.
Charles W. Morgan
After five years and almost $7
million of work, Mystic Seaport
will relaunch the restored
whaling ship Charles W.
Morgan at a July 21 ceremony.
New Book
Launch Dates
Documentary filmmaker Ric
Burns will deliver the keynote
address.
The launch will come on the
172nd anniversary of the day
the ship was originally
launched in New Bedford,
Massachusetts.
The National Historic
Landmark ship, the oldest
American commercial vessel in
existence, has undergone
comprehensive restoration
since November 2008. The
113-foot whaler came to
Mystic Seaport in 1941.
The Charles W. Morgan will
visit historic ports in New
England, including New
London, after the launch.
Michael Aye
American novelist Michael Aye
has an active writing schedule.
Remember the Raisin, the first
title in his War of 1812 trilogy,
will be published in August by
Bitingduck Press. Trident, the
sixth book in The Fighting
Anthonys naval fiction series,
will be released in October.
The second novel in the war of
1812 trilogy, Battle of Horseshoe Bend, is scheduled for
release in the summer of 2014.
The Fighting Anthonys’ book
seven is tentatively scheduled
to be launched in the fall of
2014. It will be followed in
2015 by the last book in the
War of 1812 trilogy, The Battle
of New Orleans.
2013 - 2014
US (United States)
UK (United Kingdom)
TPB (Trade Paperback)
PB (Paperback)
HC (Hardcover)
July
Gun Bay – An Edward Ballantyne Novel
(USHC)
by William H. White
The King’s Chameleon (UKHC)
by Richard Woodman
The Spoils of Conquest (UKHC)
By Seth Hunter
AUGUST
Jane Austen’s England (USHC)
by Roy and Lesley Adkins
Prince of Legend: Crusades Book 3
(USHC)
by Jack Ludlow
Remember the Raisin (USTPB)
by Michael Aye
OCTOBER
Caribbee (UKHC)
by Julian Stockwin
Betrayal (USTPB)
by Julian Stockwin
Trident (USTPB)
by Michael Aye
NOVEMBER
Divided Command (UKHC)
by David Donachie
Caribbee (USHC)
by Julian Stockwin
The King’s Chameleon (USHC)
by Richard Woodman
FEBRUARY
Coming in July …
An interview with William H. White in which he discusses
the story behind his new historical novel Gun Bay.
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The Two-Decker (USHC)
by Dewey Lambdin
By George!
Chatham Dockyard
O
n a crisp spring afternoon a few years back,
novelist Julian Stockwin and I boarded a train at
Waterloo Station in London, bound for Chatham
and The Historic Dockyard, which provided the
Royal Navy with support facilities necessary to build,
repair and maintain the fleet for over 400 years.
Julian’s penchant for authenticity and detail in his
Thomas Kydd Sea Adventures is well known, so I was
prepared for an intense few hours and I wasn’t disappointed. Once we arrived in Chatham, the dockyard was but a
short walk away.
After stepping through the dockyard’s Main Gate, which
is adorned with George III’s cipher (coat of arms), we were
swept back to another era. Julian describes himself as a
“visile” ( a person who needs to “see” things while he
writes) and the dockyard has been a compelling location for
him since his first visit at age 15 as a recruit in the Royal
Navy. Chatham in those days was the third largest naval
base in England.
Though the dockyard built, repaired and supplied ships
as early as the Elizabethan Navy’s battle against the
Spanish Armada in 1588, present day buildings only date
back to the 1700s. The keel for Nelson’s flagship, HMS
Victory, was laid in Chatham’s No. 2 Dock on 23 July
1759, which itself was built in 1623.
During this visit, Julian’s particular interest was a new
display, featuring young workers serving seven-year
apprenticeships in order to become shipwrights. “It was
rather well done,” he recalls today. The display conjured up
memories of his sea service, initially with the Royal Navy
and later with the Royal Australian Navy, when he was one
of the last to train as a shipwright schooled in the practices
of England’s “wooden walls” going back to Tudor times.
As we moved through the dockyard, passing the No. 2
Dock where Victory was built, we were chilled by a front
blowing across northern Europe from Russia. In 1771, a
12-year-old midshipman named Horatio Nelson walked this
same ground when he arrived by coach from London to
join his first ship, HMS Raisonnable.
Now there were no wooden ships on the stocks as we
trod the historical site, but a bit of imagination, bolstered by
the structures dating back to Georgian times and the
displays of artifacts, were enough to create images in our
minds. Looking across the Medway, which was peaceful
save for ripples
caused by a stiff
breeze, one could
easily envision
British ships at
anchor.
There was much
to experience within
the dockyard, but
there were particular
moments that remain
with me today. The
Ropery still
produces rope with
nineteenth-century
methods and
machines. A
bookshelf in my
Main Gate, The Historic Dockyard,
study displays a
Chatham, England
hemp whisk broom
fashioned from Chatham rope by Des Pawson, the wellknown English sailor’s rope worker and author.
The Georgian buildings – in particular the
Commissioner’s House, the Admiral’s Offices, the Ropery
and the Clocktower Building – stand out in my memory. It
was clear during our visit that Julian was absorbing the
physical aspects of the dockyard. The experience would
surely influence his writing, as have other venues, among
them the Caribbean, Halifax, Gibraltar, and the Channel
Islands, and many locations in the United Kingdom.
The Mast Houses & Mould Loft and the Wheelwrights
Shop in the dockyard represent trades that were critical to
building and maintaining Royal Navy ships. Warship
timbers were reused to build the Mast Houses & Mould
Loft. The building’s floor – laid in 1835 – shows the lines
of early steam battleships built in Chatham. Underneath on
the original floor are the lines of Chatham’s greatest sailing
ships, including Victory.
By late afternoon, we headed for the railroad station, both
with our own thoughts. Some of Julian’s no doubt were
nostalgic. Mine are now but memories, recalled on snowy
winter evenings in front of a crackling fire.
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– George Jepson
COMMENTARY | BY MICHAEL AYE
Grand Cayman or Tortuga
Each spring, Georgia-based novelist Michael Aye
and his wife Pat embark for a new destination in the
Caribbean. Aye, the author of the Fighting Anthonys
series, reports back this month on his most recent
visit to the tropics.
T
he calendar said it was spring and the flowers
were blooming and the pollen counts were rising,
but it was very nippy in South Georgia. Not cold
like Jim Nelson’s Maine, but there was still a chill in the
morning air. It was time for our annual trek to the
Caribbean. This year’s destination was Grand Cayman
or, as it was once called, Tortuga.
Columbus spotted the islands on his last journey to
the new world on 10 May 1503. He was en route from
Panama to Hispaniola, which is now the Dominican
Republic and Haiti. Columbus named the island Tortuga
(Las Tortugas) for the many sea turtles that thrived
there. Years later the name became Caymanas which
comes from the Carib Indian word Cayman for marine
crocodile.
For many years various pirates, including Henry
Morgan and Blackbeard, used the islands for an interim
port. They were drawn by the same things that attract
tourists today. Long beaches with sunny shores, clear
waters and an abundance of food and drink. The cuisine
has significantly improved from turtles and large lizards
(iguanas).
The island boasts hearty rum even today. Tortuga
rum was created on the island by a former airline
employee. The name also graces not only several flavors
of rum, but also cakes. Both are sold internationally.
During the American Revolution, Yankee privateers
aided by France, Spain, and Holland used the island as a
stopover to replenish supplies. David McCullough in the
privateer Rattlesnake was one of these. On March 20,
1778, the Rattlesnake arrived at Grand Cayman with
two prizes in company. This created a stir on the island.
James Neill, captain of the sloop Aurora, was in the
harbor loading mahogany, cotton and other trade goods.
He and another captain boarded the Rattlesnake to
inquire who and why the ships had sailed into their port.
McCullough quickly made the men his prisoners,
confiscated Neill’s ship and cargo. The privateer then
had the audacity to ransom the ship back to Neill and
provided a “Certificate of Protection” from capture by a
privateer for forty-two days. A surviving note states that
neither captain was “ill used.” McCullough also sent a
letter ashore saying his men would do no harm to island
inhabitants and that they would pay for supplies they
needed.
By the early 1780s, the American Revolution was
over and the time of pirates and privateers came to a
close, bringing peace to the Cayman Islands. By the
1830’s, the people of the Caymans had begun self rule.
They met in St. James Castle, which is now the oldest
building on the island. It has a long and storied past and
is remembered by the islanders as the “birthplace of
democracy.” Pat and I visited St. James and were
amazed at the structure and its panoramic view.
By 1835, slavery had been outlawed. The islanders –
whites and former slaves – led a quiet, peaceful
existence. Many of the inhabitants worked as turtle
fishermen or built boats. The sea provided a livelihood
for the islanders, who used their catches to trade for
agricultural items that the island couldn’t support.
On a cloudy, rainy morning, Pat and I decided to
drive the coast road around the island to Rum Point on
Cayman Kai, where the road ended. At Starfish Point,
we saw two very large, live starfish. We also saw an
iguana as big as a small alligator hanging from a tree
limb.
Taking the coast road we came upon a small stretch
of beach. A lone tree stood next to the road with a sign
that read “Flip Flop Tree.” There were hundreds of
brightly colored flip flops tacked to the tree. We also
came upon a blow hole and though it was not the megagusher we had seen in Hawaii, it gushed great plumes of
water.
5 | Quarterdeck | JUNE 2013
CONTINUED ON PAGE 17
INTERVIEW
Joan Dru ett
A
WARD-WINNING AUTHOR JOAN
DRUETT
sailed back into nautical fiction in 2005
with the launch of A Watery Grave,
introducing the Wiki Coffin Mysteries,
which are set against the U.S. Exploring Expedition in
1838. By this time, Druett was already an established
author, writing maritime history, as well as fiction.
Druett, who lives and writes
in New Zealand, launches her
Promise of Gold Trilogy this
month (see page 8). It will be
digitally published by Old Salt
Press, with trade paperback
editions following.
Quarterdeck recently
interviewed the author just as
she was about the head out to
sea:
Joan Druett
How did you arrive at writing
as your vocation? And, what initially drew you to the
sea and nautical nonfiction as subject matter for your
books?
Robert Cormier once said that he wrote because he
wanted to see his books in libraries, which I think is as
good a reason for writing as any. After voicing that
lofty thought, Cormier went on to pen thoughtprovoking, ground-breaking young adult fiction. Other
authors, such as many of the subscribers of the really
excellent journal Quarterdeck, go on to pen thoughtprovoking, ground-breaking maritime books. They
might be drawn to the sea because they are old salts
who are brimful of tales, or people who are eternally
fascinated by the romance of sail. In my case, it was
because I was curious to know how animals were
carried on board ship.
It was my first book. I had been writing short stories
and travel articles for years, along with teaching
biology, which I suppose was some sort of a reason for
a publisher to ask me to write a book about the
importation of exotic plants and animals into New
Zealand. So how, precisely, do you cart racehorses,
moose, honey bees, and opossums from one side of the
world to the other, on a four-month voyage? A weird
problem, solved by some really weird people (the
racehorses and the moose were housed in deck cabins,
bought from their rightful occupants). Not only did I
find these fascinatingly eccentric importers, but I
learned a lot about sailing ships and the men who
sailed them. And the book, Exotic Intruders, went on
to earn a lot of awards, which earned me a lot of
6 | QUARTERDECK | JUNE 2013
interest. Which meant that my name was inextricably
linked with long voyages under canvas.
Again, fate took a hand. I fell into a grave in
Rarotonga. Well, to be precise, I fell into a hole where
a tree felled by a hurricane had grown, and found the
long lost grave of a whaling wife at the bottom. Her
name was Mary-Ann Sherman, and she had been
buried on that tropical island in 1850. Knowing as
much (or as little) about life on sailing ships as I did, I
wondered what on earth she was doing on a grubby
little whaleship, particularly when I learned that that
ship (Harrison) had left New Bedford in 1845. And
thus a passion was born. To my surprise, I became
first, a world expert on women on whalers, and then an
international expert on women on sailing ships in
general. As it coincided with a sudden huge interest in
the topic, it also led to a number of well-publicized
books – Petticoat Whalers, She Was a Sister Sailor,
Hen Frigates, She Captains – and still more awards.
And so my fate as a writer of maritime books was
sealed.
Your latest history, a biography, is Tupaia – The
Remarkable Story of Captain Cook’s Navigator. What
drew you to his story?
There were many so-called “kanakas” on American
whaling ships, which in many ways was logical,
because the Polynesians were the greatest natural
navigators and seamen the world has ever known.
After bursting into the Pacific over 3000 years ago,
they colonized Fiji, Tonga, and Samoa, and then
Eastern Polynesia, stepping fearlessly from island to
island through a totally unknown sea. Back when
Europeans were just starting to experiment with the
fore-and-aft sail in the Mediterranean, their huge
double-hulled canoes, powered by lateens, sailed from
Tahiti to Hawaii and back, and they sailed south to
New Zealand 200 hundred years before Magellan
ventured into the ocean. When Europeans “discovered”
the Pacific, it was just a rediscovery, because the
Polynesians had already done it.
So what was it like for them to sail on plodding,
single-hulled, round-bottomed European craft, driven
by squares and triangles of canvas? When a friend
remarked at a lunch that no one had written a
biography of Tupaia, the astonishingly gifted Tahitian
who sailed on the Endeavour with Cook, I said, “I can
do that.” I was thinking as a maritime historian, of
course, not as a Pacific historian or an anthropologist,
but I reckoned I could, and so I did it. And Tupaia won
the New Zealand Post non-fiction award, which was a
huge accomplishment.
It’s been nearly nine years since Maori detective Wiki
Coffin appeared as the protagonist in your nautical
fiction series in A Watery Grave. What motivated you
to cross over from history to historical fiction?
I’ve always written both fiction and nonfiction. When I
discovered Mary Ann’s grave, my first impulse was to
write a novel about her – or about a girl like her, only
with a happy ending. The result was Abigail, which
was snapped up by big New York and London
publishers, and went into several editions. I moved
away from whaling with the next novel, A Promise of
Gold, which is about a brig that is owned by a pirate
and sailed by a crew of fortune hunters, and is set in
the very early Californian Goldrush. This book
(originally 210,000 rousing words, but severely cut,)
was also published internationally. These are now
adapted for digital publication. Abigail needed a lot of
rewriting, as it included a great deal of background
description of the whaling process, something that isn’t
politically correct any more. It has only recently come
out, with its title revised as A Love of Adventure. The
Goldrush saga is being reissued in three volumes by
Old Salt Press, as the Promise of Gold series, after
having been restored to its original length. The first
book, Judas Island, will come out in May, followed
within days by the next two.
What was the seed for the Wiki Coffin character?
Wiki Coffin, as a person, was inspired by a book I was
reviewing for the Boston Globe, which was a fine
study of the 1838 U. S. Exploring Expedition by
Nathaniel Philbrick, Sea of Glory. When I started
reading the journals kept on this expedition, I was
struck by an unconsciously racist description of a
Maori on the Vincennes, Jack Sac. I thought a man like
Jack would be a perfect detective, part of the
complement and yet an outsider, with an outsider’s
perspective. All I needed was rousing maritime
background and a stirring mystery. An editor at
Minotaur/St. Martin’s loved the idea, and so the series
was born.
The Wiki series is now includes five books and a
several short stories in the Alfred Hitchcock Mystery
Magazine. What’s on the horizon for the naval sleuth?
During the production of the fourth book, Deadly
Shoals, my gallant editor departed, and the series went
into limbo. In the meantime, I had been writing short
stories about Wiki’s earlier life on whalers and traders
for the Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine, the editors
7 | QUARTERDECK | JUNE 2013
being huge fans, and so the lapse of the novels didn’t
mean the actual demise of my hero, which was nice.
But there was a complication. The four books had also
been bought by Allen & Unwin, an Australian
publisher, who had wanted a teaser chapter from the
next book at the end of each one. So, for the fourth
book, I had written a chapter of what was to be the fifth
book, Beckoning Ice. And the fans weren’t happy when
that book never came out. So in the end I finished it,
and went straight to digital self-publishing. No
publisher is going to pick up a series halfway through,
so it was only logical for me to do that. As it happens,
it is the best book of the series, so I might be forced to
write another. The short stories, which are about
Wiki’s adventures as a younger man, have provided so
much background that he has developed as a character,
with foibles and fears. Some of the fans have kindly
said that he reminds them of Horatio Hornblower, and
of course they want more. In the meantime, I nudge
them towards the short stories. The latest, “The Bengal
Tiger,” is the cover story in a recent issue of the Alfred
Hitchcock Mystery Magazine – and a wonderful cover
it is, too.
Over the years you have interspersed your writing with
nonfiction and fiction. What pulls you one way or the
other? How do you research your novels as opposed to
your works of history? Do you maintain a research
library?
I am sure you have guessed by now that writing fiction
and nonfiction is very much the same exercise for me.
Both jobs demand intensive research, and because of
that I have a large personal library, half of which
would be good basic reference books, such as John
Harland’s Seamanship and Lincoln Paine’s Ships of the
World, along with the standards like Stackpole,
Matthews, Chapelle, Rodger and Lavery. The rest is
made up of memoirs and stories written by old salts
who had wonderful tales to tell.
Do you find the challenges of writing fiction much
different than writing history?
The biggest difference between fiction and nonfiction
is the creation of fictional characters. While you might
treat a real historical character fictionally in your
nonfiction study, you are confined to what he or she
actually did and said. This has applied to a certain
extent with real people in the Wiki Coffin mysteries,
such as Wilkes or Ringgold, for though I can make up
dialogue, it has to be consistent with the real person’s
style of speech. Fictional characters give the writer a
lot more freedom – initially.
Nonfiction, I think, benefits from a novelist’s
approach. It certainly doesn’t hurt to have a “grabber”
first sentence – “At the instant of his birth, Tupaia’s
life hung in the balance” – or to establish the setting
early, or to describe the characters in human terms.
And telling a nonfiction story is a matter of picking out
dramatic moments, just as a novelist progresses step by
step through the plot. Reviewers say my nonfiction
books read like thrillers, and what’s wrong with that?
How important is historical credibility in creating
believable fiction for readers?
Good historical maritime fiction depends on solid basic
knowledge, too. The audience is a well-educated one,
made up of people who know their ships and sailors
already, and if you get a critical detail wrong, they are
going to know it, and be very unhappy. And not only
does the reader of historical maritime fiction bring a lot
of personal knowledge to the book, but he (or she) is
expecting to learn something, too, so the little intimate
details that come from reading the memoirs and
journals of the actual seafarers of the time are what is
going to make your book work for them. For the Wiki
Coffin mysteries that were set in Brazil and Patagonia,
Run Afoul and Deadly Shoals, Darwin’s diary kept on
the Beagle was an absolute godsend, for instance.
Do your characters ever take on a life of their own and
influence the direction of your stories?
When you ask this question, I immediately think of
Forsythe, the lieutenant who made Wiki’s life so
unpleasant in A Watery Grave. I had every intention of
killing him off in the next book, Shark Island, but he
wouldn’t let me, so I had to murder someone else,
instead. Now, he has become a major character, with
depth, and I have to admit I have become fond of him.
I certainly can’t see myself killing him off anytime
soon.
Please describe where you write.
Writers usually write at home, and have to make that
environment work for them. I now have my desk and
bookcases right off the kitchen, so I can dash off that
crucial sentence while the potatoes are boiling. It
means people are going to and fro, and the phone keeps
on ringing, but what office is different?
Do you re-write as you go along?
Constantly. Times of solitude are used for
8 | QUARTERDECK | JUNE 2013
composition,while distractions are more easily ignored
when you are self-editing – and that self-editing,
polishing, and proofing is very important. Thorough
proofreading is critical. Every good writer should
never be satisfied with less than an absolutely clean
manuscript, whether on hard drive or paper.
What is your take on the current state of publishing,
with the advent of e-books and self-publishing?
With the advent of digital publishing, having a clean
manuscript is more important than ever, even if you
have a traditional publisher. The fact that you have sent
in an electronic manuscript means that it is more likely
that it will be translated directly into a book, along with
all the mistakes, bad formatting, and typos you’ve left
in it. And, if you have self-published your book, you
don’t want your name on anything that looks scruffy.
But, once it is taken on board that e-publishing needs a
greater commitment to good spelling, good grammar,
and good writing than ever before, I believe it is the
most exciting development since the invention of the
printing press. Not only are more writers producing
more quickly, but I think that it is leading to a surge in
the numbers of those who read books, too.
The major problem with independent publishing is
quality control. Not only are badly formatted books
that are full of simple spelling and grammatical errors
getting into the marketplace, but really badly written
stories are being self-published, too. Part of the answer
will come by itself, as the audience becomes more
discerning (digital books are very easily deleted). The
formation of cooperative presses, where independent
writers work together to advise each other on
formatting and editing, and then help promote their
fellows’ good work, will go a long way to improve the
product, too. It’s your well-informed book group going
global. And why not?
Is there anything else you would like to share with our
readers?
How about the idea of a writers’ cooperative that is
dedicated to excellent maritime writing, both fiction
and nonfiction? Featuring a group of writers of
maritime lore who support each other by freely
promoting other members’ books as they come out?
This is the philosophy behind Old Salt Press, and I
firmly believe it is the exciting path of the future.
Visit Joan Druett online at
www.joan.druett.gen.nz.
Promise of Gold Trilogy
by Joan Druett
JUDAS ISLAND
(Old Salt Press, $0.99, Kindle)
As she stood on the deck of
the brig Gosling, Harriet Gray
was forced to face an
unhappy truth. She had been
duped, yet again. At eighteen,
the lovely English actress had
already known more than her
share of betrayal. And now, a
dishonest shipmaster had
stranded her on board a ship
that was manned by a lusty,
treasure-hunting crew, with a pirate captain whose
dangerous smile barely concealed his fury. And
whose quest for the dark secret of Judas Island was
about to unveil an ancient tragedy.
CALAFIA’S KINGDOM
(Old Salt Press, $2.99, Kindle)
Like a phantom dogging
Harriet Gray’s trail, Frank
Sefton is polished, charming –
and utterly ruthless. Once, he
abandoned the actress to a
miserable fate on the far-flung
shores of New Zealand. Now,
he is back in her life – full of
devious schemes to rob and
mortify her, far from the
protection of Captain Jake
Dexter, and his gold-seeking crew.
DEAREST ENEMY
(Old Salt Press, $2.99, Kindle)
That the Gosling Company
should become a theatrical
company was a preposterous
idea – as crazy as the actual
fact that Captain Jake Dexter,
once a respectable Yankee
mariner, was now an
infamous pirate. Yet, he had
already traveled such a long,
strange path as a fortunehunting adventurer that
metamorphosing into the manager of the first
theatre in Sacramento was just another step. But
Jake Dexter could never imagine the danger that
this would involve for his actress, Harriet Gray, or
that his own life would be so threatened.
9 | QUARTERDECK | JUNE 2013
NAVAL HISTORY | BY DOUGLAS REEMAN
D-Day Recalled
“The senior Naval Officer gathered us together and
informed us without fuss or emotion that the waiting was
over. D-Day, hoped for and at the same time feared, was
no longer a rumour or some hazy plan; it was a reality.
The greatest invasion of all time was about to begin.”
Best-selling author Douglas Reeman was a young officer
in the Royal Navy during the Second World War. His
first novel, A Prayer for the Ship, published in 1958, was
a tribute to his service in the Light Coastal Forces. By
the war’s end in 1945, Reeman was not yet twenty-one,
but had already spent nearly six years at sea in the North
Atlantic, Mediterranean and English Channel. Following
are excerpts from his D-Day: A Personal Reminiscence
(© 1984 by Douglas Reeman), recalling events he
experienced sixty-nine years ago this month. Punctuation
and spelling are as originally published in the UK.
A
totalled 30, were
entitled to draw their
daily issue of rum,
which means they
were the only ones
who were aged more
than 20.
Most of them had
been schoolboys
when the war had
started, but by 1944
they had seen action
in the Narrow Seas,
the North Sea, and
from one end of the
Mediterranean to the
other.
T THE TIME OF THE INVASION OF
Normandy I was serving in the navy’s
Light Coastal Forces. These were made up
of Motor Torpedo Boats (MTBs) and
Motor Gunboats (MGBs), small in size but powerful
and deadly. As somebody said of us, ‘Faster than
anything bigger, bigger than anything faster.’
They ranged in size from 70 to 115 feet long, the
former with a crew of a dozen or so, the latter
manned by some 30 souls who worked and lived in
conditions that had not advanced much since the days
of Nelson.
But because of their smallness these boats, the
‘Little Ships’ as they were affectionately known, had
a personality and a sense of comradeship which were
unique. A part of the wartime navy and yet somehow
completely separate, like submariners and minesweepers. Their war was a fast one where there was
little time to ponder and calculate the cost of a fight.
For that reason their crews – like their boats – were
very young, the vast proportion of whom were
‘Hostilities Only’ and, like their officers, volunteers.
I remember that in our boat the oldest man aboard
was the Skipper, and he was a veteran of 26. It occurs
to me now that only five of our company, which
Douglas Reeman, a young Royal
Navy officer in the 1940s.
***
In the navy we all knew it was coming. It had to.
There was no other way, although to the vast
majority of us the hows and the wheres remained a
complete mystery.
The military had of course been training and
exercising for many months. Co-operation between
the British, the Americans, and the Canadians, as
well as the smaller groups of Free-French and other
occupied countries, had to be perfect, the timing
exact. Many of the troops who were destined to face
German firepower in Europe had never seen action
before. For the planners it was an immense task.
And everyone who was to take part could be
certain of only one thing. If the invasion failed, there
would be no more chances, no Dunkirk this time to
prevent the enemy from reversing the attack. If
10 | QUARTERDECK | JUNE 2013
anybody needed reminding of this, he had only to
consider the fact that the German army had been
fighting us, the Americans, and the Russians on
several fronts at once.
***
The weather was mostly bad. Even as June came to
the Channel it was grey, rough and misty. More like
November than early summer. I remember it well. I
had been home on leave to see my parents for a
couple of days. My father asked me what we were all
doing. I answered vaguely that we might be on some
sort of manoeuvres. That did not tell him anything
important, but it stopped my mother from worrying
too much. Looking back I suppose it was very hard
for her with her only two sons away, one at sea the
other in the air.
That was on the Saturday. Not long after returning
to the base I knew something was going to happen. I
said as much to the Skipper. He just shrugged and
remarked, ‘About bloody time.’
We were called unexpectedly to see the Senior
Officer, a lieutenant-commander who had once been
a solicitor. I cannot remember a word he said, except
something about the need for total secrecy.
Manoeuvres, I had told my father. Bloody hell. It
was no longer a rumour, it was not next week, it was
tomorrow.
myself with the sailor’s belief that someone would
foul things up anyway, and tonight we would be back
in harbour.
The flotilla put to sea in a stiff, biting wind and an
endless array of broken whitecaps.
It was then the Skipper told our small company
that this was not another exercise. It was on.
We made heavy going of it as we thrust out into
open water. We were loaded down with full tanks
and extra ammunition, and the steep waves caused
the slender hull to lift and plunge so much that I
thought I was going to throw up.
***
***
We scrambled to get ready for sea and tried to cope
with the sudden arrival of intelligence packs and
sealed charts. The mass of information seemed
endless and with little time to study it. Destinations,
grouping zones, depths and distances, where the
enemy coastal defences were – they had certainly
done their homework.
It was Normandy, come hell or high water. I tried
to discover how I felt about it.
Excitement, anxiety, fear – it was all and none of
those things. I was 19 and did not want to die after
getting that far; too many I had known had fallen
along the way. Equally I knew I could not stand the
waiting and the uncertainty all over again.
War changes a lot of things in a young man. I
found that I could not decide whether to write a ‘last
letter’ to my parents just in case the worst should
happen. In the end I decided against it. Maybe I was
afraid of displaying too much emotion which in the
past years I had had to learn to conceal. I consoled
Throughout the slow passage, signals were received
about various formations and last-minute changes.
The gun muzzles swung across the grey clouds, the
Oerlikons ready to rip into action if a bomb screamed
through the haze and drifting spray. And still nothing
happened.
Into the Channel and west along the coast, the sea
merging with the sky as dusk began to close in. Past
the Isle of Wight, with the Needles watching us like
pale spectres as we growled abeam.
One signal reported that the attack was to be
delayed; some of the landing-craft had been re-routed
back to shelter because of the weather. If the Skipper
was worried he did not show it.
We overtook two elderly trawlers, painted grey
and classified for the duration as minesweepers. Long
thin funnels, and low-lying greasy smoke. Old-timers
both of them, and they rocked in the swell as our
tight line ploughed past them. An old RNR tworinger gave us a wave and our lads waved back.
British Vosper-type MTB underway.
11 | QUARTERDECK | JUNE 2013
The Skipper appeared on the swaying bridge. ‘It’s
on again. Tuesday morning.’ He bit hard on his unlit
pipe. ‘I must be getting past it.’ We all laughed, and
the tension began to steal away like mist.
It was like heading into a void. No stars, nothing,
while we continued westward to the first rendezvous.
We changed course yet again, tested the guns, and
timed the ammunition supply.
When the third hand came up to relieve me there
was a strong smell, Pusser’s ki, that glutinous cocoa
beloved by sailors. I had been shivering badly. Cold
and some fear as to how I would behave. When I
looked at my watch it was well past midnight. So we
would attack tomorrow.
The word seemed to stick in my mind. Tomorrow.
But the scalding hot ki did much to help. It usually
did. This time it was so thick you could almost stand
a spoon in it, and there was a deeper taste. Rum.
Somebody's illegally hoarded tots, but it was
marvelous.
The signalman grinned through the darkness. ‘Just
the job, eh, sir?’
I went below and tried to rest, but only when dawn
came up did I feel I could sleep. By then it was too
late.
Later in the day we sighted the first labouring
formation of landing ships, with ranks of little
landing-craft tossing about like corks on either beam.
I felt a lump in my throat. They looked so frail, so
ugly, and yet everything depended on them and their
youthful commanders. They were the lowest vessels
afloat, and we had to reduce speed to keep station on
them.
There were the usual moans. ‘Roll on my bloody
twelve!’ While from our doughty coxswain, ‘Once I
get ashore after this you’ll not get me to sea again in
ten million bloody years!’ Except he did not say
‘bloody’.
But the tension seemed to have gone altogether.
Our Scouse gun layer was whistling ‘Maggie May’
while he crawled around his two-pounder, too
engrossed even to look at the lengthening ranks of
landing-craft. He had come to us as a hard case, and
had been more in the detention barracks than out. But
in Coastal Forces he had found his proper place in
things. Ashore he was as bad as ever, but once at sea
you never had to look for him or to check his work.
In a weak moment he had once spoken about his
upbringing in Liverpool, his home which made all the
other slums seem good places to live. We would need
his skill and his aim tomorrow, I thought.
A destroyer boiled past, her loud-hailer rasping out
instructions to the various landing-craft. They did not
really need to be told to keep proper distance apart
and on the right bearing, but when darkness found
them once again it would make station-keeping an
even worse nightmare.
We looked around for other warships but they did
not seem much in evidence. With their superior speed
they would soon overhaul this strange armada. But it
would have been reassuring to see a few of the big
fellows before night fell.
It was hard not to count the hours, difficult to
concentrate on the other ships’ blurred outlines, their
giveaway bow-waves, and the spray which burst
above their blunt stems. No more signals. No recall.
Surely to God the Germans must know what we’re up
to?
It was unnerving to think of all those vessels and
all the thousands of men who were being carried
towards the enemy coast. How much worse it must
be for the soldiers. Waiting, waiting, their imaginations running riot, as mine was.
I felt the deck gratings bounce under my boots and
heard the sullen bang of an exploding mine. God, it
sounded close. Perhaps it was one of those poor little
minesweepers that had run across the edge of a field,
or had picked up a drifter.
They were the real heroes. It was a bad risk at any
time, but to put out sweeps in pitch darkness to clear
a passage for this giant armada was tempting death.
There were more violent bangs, and I was aware that
the watch keepers were being joined by the others
who had been snatching a break below.
No need for a call to arms or bugle to rouse them.
We were one, like family.
The Skipper came up from the tiny chart-room,
rubbing his eyes and patting his pockets as he always
did. To make certain he had everything he needed.
Perhaps to reassure himself.
He showed his teeth in the darkness. ‘Jerry must be
stone deaf.’ A voicepipe crackled and the Skipper
said quietly, ‘We are now entering the danger zone.’
The signalman chuckled. ‘Never been out of it
meself, sir.’
I raised my glasses to study the labouring ships
abeam. Big shapeless lumps still without identity in
the protective darkness. It was getting me down. I
heard someone murmuring softly, ‘Oh, God, oh,
God,’ over and over. It was like being doused with
icy water when I realized it was me. That did more to
steady me than anything.
Dawn soon. If only the sickening motion would
stop. If only….
12 | QUARTERDECK | JUNE 2013
***
The Skipper said, ‘Go round the boat, Number One.
Just to keep up their spirits.' He studied me through
the darkness, his cap shining with spray. ‘Okay?’
I grinned. ‘As I’ll ever be, sir.’
How close the sea was as I groped my way aft,
licking across the deck and dropping away again as
the hull swayed over.
I knew them all by name, and a lot more beside.
Anonymous shapes with pale blobs for faces.
Strapped to their guns, or crouching like athletes
waiting for the starter's pistol, ready to slam in fresh
magazines or belts of ammunition. No matter what
was happening around them. No matter what.
‘Aircraft!’
But for once it was not a sneak raider tearing down
to investigate the array of bow-waves and white
wakes. Even as I bustled back to our squat bridge I
heard them droning overhead. Exactly on time,
precisely as described in the secret orders. We all
looked up but saw nothing. The air seemed to cringe
to the mounting roar of engines. There must have
been hundreds and hundreds of them.
It seemed to take no time at all for the bombers to
reach their first objectives. You could faintly see the
blur of land beneath the bombardment while the
clouds overhead danced and reared up in vivid red
and orange flashes.
The sky was not merely lit by the flashes. It really
was getting brighter. When I peered abeam I saw the
nearest landing-ships, suddenly bright and vulnerable
as the early light found them. More bombs muttered
across the water, and an aircraft fell briefly across the
scarlet glow to starboard. Like a dying bird, not real
somehow.
The Skipper was speaking with the coxswain. He
said suddenly, ‘Hoist Battle Ensigns!’
I had never seen it done before. With our tiny
mast, it was hard to carry out anyway. But eventually
the crisp White Ensigns were streaming from either
yard above the bridge. They looked so clean and
somehow beautiful that I wanted to cheer. I think we
all did.
It was getting lighter by the minute, the lines of
ships stretching out abeam and ahead like a Roman
phalanx on the advance.
Someone gave a cheer, and we saw the first of the
heavy warships sweeping up from astern. The real
navy. From our low hull the cruisers looked
enormous with their streaming battle flags and their
turrets already swinging towards the land, highangled and ready to fire.
On one landing-craft the soldiers were standing on
their tanks to cheer and wave their black berets while
the ships surged past. But their voices were lost in the
roar of the fans as the ships worked up to full speed,
with the destroyers sweeping on either side to protect
them.
It was infectious. We all waved and shouted into
the din, and whereas some of us had been afraid we
would be forced into the lead, we were now fearful of
being left behind.
***
Tall waterspouts shot towards the sky and then
drifted down again very slowly.
The Germans were awake now all right. But the
fall of shells seemed ineffectual and without menace.
That would not last long. The cruisers opened fire,
the salvoes tearing toward the shore. It was then that I
saw it for the first time. The coast of France. It
stretched away on either bow, an unbroken purple
shadow. There were flashes along it now, and soon
the shells came down amongst and between the slowmoving columns thick and fast.
God, it was close, I thought. The land looked less
than a mile or so away. And even though I knew this
was a natural illusion after hours of station-keeping
in complete darkness, I was surprised that we were so
near.
The bombardment mounted by the second so that
even the explosions ashore were lost in the crash and
thunder of heavy naval gunfire. There were even
battleships joining in with their 16- and 15-inch guns.
Some were near the American sector, firing far inland
beyond the advancing ships; others lay out of sight
below the horizon far astern of us, hurling their
salvoes right over us with savage intensity.
You could see the ripple of flashes along the grey
horizon, and had to force yourself not to duck as the
great shells tore overhead with the sound of tearing
canvas. The shells were dropping on the enemy
emplacements and supporting roads from each
battleship at the rate of about ten tons a minute.
It made thought impossible, and when we shouted
to each other our voices sounded strange, like divers
talking underwater. And all the while the lines of
landing-ships sailed on, some breaking away in
smaller formations to head for their allotted beaches.
Shell bursts hurled towering columns of water all
around them. It was heart-stopping to see them
13 | QUARTERDECK | JUNE 2013
moving steadily through the smoke and falling spray.
Nothing, it seemed, could stop them.
Lines of red and green tracer ripped across the
water, and were answered immediately by the
destroyers and gunboats.
It was a sight nobody could ever forget. The
landing-vessels, the following flotillas of barges and
towed pontoons with grotesque bridges aboard like
giant Meccano sets. Battleships, cruisers, destroyers
and corvettes, tugs and trawlers.
There was a sigh as one of the smaller landingcraft came to a dead stop with smoke pouring from
her box-like hull as she began to heel over. The
soldiers were swarming up and away from the sea,
and I saw a motor launch speeding towards her to
take them off before they were flung into the water.
Weighted down with their weapons and ammunition,
steel helmets and heavy boots, they would not stand
much of a chance.
Our hull gave a lurch and when I clambered from
the bridge and peered over the side I saw a great tear
along the planking, the mahogany splinters sticking
out like dark red quills.
Nothing too dangerous. She could take that and a
lot more.
The Skipper had located a German pillbox, a low
hump beyond some jagged anti-tank defences.
‘Open fire!’
The two-pounder and the one Oerlikon which
would bear threw their weight into the fight, their
harsher rattle puny against the might of our heavy
consorts.
Like many of the little warships we held station on
the army's flank. Firing at anything which moved,
until our minds were blank to everything else, and
our guns jammed from overheating.
We went alongside a landing-craft which was
backing away from the beach. She needed all the help
we could offer as she zig-zagged amongst the
wrecked vessels and sunken vehicles. I peered into
her hull and realized that the first of the wounded
were being taken off to a hospital ship somewhere
back there in the drifting smoke.
I never thought, at that moment, that I would be
like one of them in another six days, and on my way
home.
The beach itself which we had sighted at first light
that morning was a scene of utter chaos and
devastation. A few figures picked their way down
towards the sea, first-aid parties, walking wounded,
like remnants from the advancing tanks and infantry
which had already vanished inland, their progress
marked by more explosions and a drifting pall of
smoke.
Wrecked tanks and broken steel girders which had
been meant to stop their movement from the beach,
shell-cases and discarded weapons. It was an
aftermath of courage itself. I was reminded of the
pictures I had seen of that other war thirty years
earlier.
And there lay the dead where they had fallen, some
by the water's edge, others higher up in attitudes of
abandonment.
Maybe elsewhere along that bleak Normandy coast
there was a shambles or a stalemate. But we had
come through that terrible day. We were the victors.
In war you take each day and every hour as a
bonus. D-Day was over and we had survived.
As the Allied forces moved inland, the invasion fleet
continued in support, transferring supplies and
equipment, bombarding enemy positions and
evacuating the wounded.
POSTSCRIPT
On 12 June, whilst working close inshore, the ‘little
ship’ came under fire from an enemy unit which had
penetrated the Allies’ ‘Ring of Steel’. To make
matters worse, the tide had dropped and the ship
became entangled on an underwater obstruction. The
MTB took a direct hit amidships. Douglas Reeman
was hit by splinters and seriously injured in both legs.
Amidst the smoke, flames and shouting, he remembers vividly the feelings of pain and despair as he
was dragged from the sea and up the rain-soaked
beach by bloodstained army medics. After emergency
treatment, and drugged against the pain, he was put
aboard a landing-craft for the passage home.
Douglas spent the next few weeks in hospital, then
returned to the war. This time he went to Icelandic
waters on anti-submarine patrol. The MTBs then regrouped in the English Channel and ‘were in at the
kill’ during the last weeks of the war.
When the guns fell silent for the first time in six
years, Douglas was in Kiel Harbour. There were a lot
of faces missing who should have been there on that
bright day in May 1945. Men ‘killed in action’, who
paid the supreme price of victory; men like Douglas,
seriously injured, who remembered the battle as if it
were yesterday; and men unscathed who could only
say ‘Thank God, I survived!’ For them and for all the
men and women who fought and won World War II,
the spirit of D-Day, 6 June 1944, must always be kept
alive.
14 | QUARTERDECK | JUNE 2013
MARITIME HISTORY | BY JULIAN STOCKWIN
Written Treasures
W
HEN GEORGE JEPSON VISITED MY
home in Devon a few years back the
first thing he wanted to see was my
library of sea books! George, as you
may have guessed, is also a bit of a bibliophile.
I treasure my reference library, which is the result
of quite a number of years’ collecting, and now runs
to many hundreds of volumes. They line all four
walls of my study, and spill out into other rooms in
the house. As wonderful as the Internet is, and as
useful are my electronic charts, there is nothing to
match opening the pages of a real book, especially
one that has obvious signs of having been much-read
in the past.
Although each of my books is catalogued and
indexed I tend to have them in three broad categories
– those with particular relevance to the book I am
currently writing; sea books in a general sense and
tomes about the Georgians ashore.
George, however, has asked me to pick just six
reference books to recommend to fans of Age of
Fighting Sail fiction. So here goes.
THE SAILOR’S WORD BOOK
by W. H. Smyth
First published in 1867,
this is a wonderful
source book of the rich
sea language of Kydd’s
day. William Smyth was
a naval surveyor who
amassed a great deal of
material about
Neptune’s Realm in the
course of a long career.
From 1858 (when he
was 70!) until 1865 he
assembled his Word
Book, sadly dying before
he could see it in print.
With some 14,000 nautical terms it defines a huge
range of both common and rare words in the author's
characteristically pithy style. I always have my copy
to hand as I write!
NELSON’S NAVY
by Brian Lavery
The author is a
leading authority
on the sailing
fighting ship and
this work, written
over ten years ago
(and reprinted
many times),
deservedly
remains a classic.
Beginning with
a background on
the wars with
France and naval
administration,
Lavery covers the design and construction of
ships, training and organisation of officers and men
and life at sea. It is in the latter that Lavery excels in
his description of a world far removed from the
hardships and cruelty that is often attributed to life on
the lower deck.
A CLASSICAL DICTIONARY OF THE VULGAR
TONGUE
by Francis Grose
The Georgian age was a time when language was
more earthy and colorful than today, slang words
often deriving from references to bodily functions.
Among my favorite reference works is A Classical
Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue by Captain Francis
Grose. Grose was an eminent English antiquarian
who lived life to the full in every way: contemporary
portraits of him show a very large man!
15 | QUARTERDECK | JUNE 2013
Despite his size,
Grose was very active in
his fieldwork to record
the slang of the day; he
wandered the streets
picking up speech from
all walks of life and
frequented drinking
dens, carefully listening
and noting everything
down. The Classical
Dictionary of the Vulgar
Tongue was first
published in 1785, and has been reprinted many
times.
THE MARINE ART OF GEOFF HUNT
by Geoff Hunt
I have a growing
collection of
books about
marine art and
find it inspiring to
read how the great
sea artists work.
One of these
artists for whom I
have huge respect
and admiration is
Geoff Hunt (who
was
commissioned to paint original oil paintings for the
covers of the first eight books in the Kydd series). In
The Marine Art of Geoff Hunt, there are over 100
paintings and sketches, enriched by Geoff’s thoughts
on techniques and artistic influences. In his chapter
“Illustrating the Naval Writers,” he honored me by
discussing conceptualizing the covers of three of my
books.
ALL THINGS AUSTEN
by Kirstin Olsen
This is a two-volume
encyclopedia of Jane
Austen’s world, i.e. Georgian
England. Although
expensive, it’s a wonderful
resource of more than 150
entries on the form and
function of life ashore.
Among the fascinating and
lively entries are “pocket
Ling and Chi, two much-loved Siamese, oversee a section of
Julian Stockwin’s reference library in the author’s Devon home.
books and reticules,” “gypsies” and “bathing.”
FALCONER’S DICTIONARY OF THE MARINE
by William Falconer and William Burney
This is of the enduring classics that have come down
to us from Nelson's time, wonderfully recreated from
the original in its full detail. The Burney 1815 edition
is the most
comprehensive and
informative, tapping
resources unavailable to
Falconer in 1769 to
make it the definitive
picture of Nelson's Navy
at its apogee. It contains
marine technology, data
on technical aspects of
shipbuilding, fitting and
armaments, and the
Navy’s administrative
and operational
practices.
Of course this is a purely personal selection and
there are many more I could recommend. Perhaps we
can revisit this topic in a future issue
The first chapter of Julian Stockwin’s new
Thomas Kydd novel, Caribbee, will be published
in the September issue of Quarterdeck. The
fourteenth novel in the Kydd Sea Adventures will
be launched in the US and UK in October.
16 | QUARTERDECK | JUNE 2013
Booksh elf
Take, Burn or Destroy
Hell Around the Horn
by S. Thomas Russell
by Rick Spilman
(Putnam, $27.95 / $14.99,
Kindle and NOOK) 1794, the
height of the French Revolution
– Charles Hayden sets off
aboard the ill-fated HMS
Themis with orders to destroy a
French frigate sailing from Le
Havre and to gather intelligence
from a royalist spy. On discovering French plans for an
imminent invasion of England,
Hayden must return to
Portsmouth to give warning
before it’s too late. But the
enemy has been lying in wait
for him, and so begins a dangerous chase out into the
Atlantic and into the clutches of a powerful French
squadron. After a thwarted attempt to masquerade as
French sailors, Hayden and his officers are taken
prisoner. A shipwreck following a storm and a case of
mistaken identity befall Hayden and his men, as they try in
desperation to escape in order to warn the Lords of the
Admiralty. Failure will mean the invasion of England – and
the guillotine for Hayden.
(Old Salt Press, $10.99 / $2.99,
Kindle) Hell Around the Horn is
a nautical thriller set in the last
days of the great age of sail. In
1905, a young ship’s captain
and his family set sail on the
windjammer, Lady Rebecca,
from Cardiff, Wales with a
cargo of coal bound for Chile,
by way of Cape Horn. Before
they reach the Southern Ocean,
the cargo catches fire, the mate
threatens mutiny and one of the
crew may be going mad, yet the
greatest challenge will prove to
be surviving the vicious westerly winds and mountainous
seas of the worst Cape Horn winter in memory. Based on
an actual voyage, Hell Around the Horn is a story of
survival and the human spirit against overwhelming odds.
“Rick Spilman brings alive the rough and tumble world of
the windjammer with authentic and well-chosen detail, in a
voice that is at once historically authentic, yet fresh as a
salty gale,” said Linda Collison, author of the Patricia
MacPherson Nautical Adventures.
COMMENTARY | BY MICHAEL AYE
CONTINUED FROM PAGE 3
Our next stop was Queen Elizabeth’s Wreck of the
Ten Sails Memorial at Gun Bay. In November 1794, a
convoy of merchant ships led by HMS Convert
foundered on the reef. Gun Bay is at the east end of
Grand Cayman. This is a very rocky area. As the wind
was blowing, white caps were breaking over the reef
and it was clearly visible about a half mile offshore. Ten
small pillars and the plaque are all there is to see, but
watching the waves crash over the reef caused a lump in
my throat and a chill ran through me. The good thing is
that everyone was saved by the Cayman people. Legend
has it that one of those rescued was a royal prince.
Because of their bravery, King George III declared that
the Caymanans should forever be free from taxation and
war conscription. There must be something to the
legend. Grand Cayman is now considered one of the
financial centers of the world, with over 500 banks on
the island. I would like to mention that William White
has a new novel called Gun Bay that will be released in
July. Having read the manuscript, I can say it’s highly
recommended.
The remainder of our visit was limited to the beach.
We sunned and I read several books, including the latest
by Alaric Bond and Dewey Lambin. I also read James
Nelson’s new novel about Vikings – Fin Gall. All were
great. Pat and I have traveled all over the Caribbean and
the beaches on Grand Cayman are tops. We stayed at a
small, beautiful condo called London House. It was no
more than twenty steps to the tiki hut and shade, and
another twenty to thirty to the crystal clear Caribbean.
Well, shipmates, that’s it until next year.
17 | QUARTERDECK | JUNE 2013
Michael Aye
Classic Naval Fiction
by Frederick Marryat
Frank Mildmay or the Naval Officer
(McBooks Press, $16.95, US trade paperback) Frank
Mildmay is a rogue and a rascal who cuts a
memorable swath as he move up the ranks of the
early 19th-century Royal Navy. Whether seducing
pretty girls ashore, braving hurricanes at sea or
scrambling aboard a French privateer with cutlass
bared, Mildmay and his adventures live on! Frank
Mildmay, Marryat’s first novel, is said to be partly
autobiographical. He completed it while fitting out his
last command, the 28-gun Ariadne.
Mr Midshipman Easy
(McBooks Press, $18.95, US trade paperback) Set sail
with Midshipman Jack Easy, the original nautical hero,
as he embarks on a career in the Royal Navy, full of
spine-tingling danger, outrageous adventure and
humorous goings on. Jack is the unfortunate son of a
self-taught philosopher who has a lot to learn on the
decks of a ship of war – but learn them he does, and
proves his courage, honor and cleverness to boot. As
you embark with Jack on a tour of the High Seas, you’ll
be following in the footsteps of Herman Melville,
Joseph Conrad, Virginia Woolf, C.S. Forester, Patrick
O’Brian and countless other lovers of nautical fiction
through the years, who found in Marryat the key to a
whole new world.
Newton Forster
(McBooks Press, $18.95, US trade paperback)
Newton Forster is a troubled young man who survives
being impressed into the Royal Navy, imprisonment in
France, and a shipwreck in the West Indies before
gaining a post on British East India Company vessel
bound for Asia. Forster faces a thrill a chapter –
murder, insanity, press gangs, prison, pirates,
treachery, and romance! Marryat’s non-stop action and
wry wit combine to create an immensely entertaining
blend of sea story and farce.
The King’s Own
(McBooks Press, $19.95, US trade paperback) William
Seymour grows up on shipboard in the Royal Navy,
after his father is hanged during the mutiny at the Nore
in 1797. Later, the young hero is impressed into the
crew of a daring smuggler. This amusing and exciting
novel blends in the classic true tale of an English
captain who deliberately lost his frigate on a lee shore,
in order to wreck a French line-of-battle ship.
Snarleyyow or the Dog Fiend
(McBooks Press, $18.95, US trade paperback)
Lieutenant Cornelius Vanslyperken is the greedy and
treacherous commander of a small vessel that hunts
for smugglers in the English Channel. Snarleyyow is
his "indestructible" dog. Set in 1699 and framed
around the Jacobite (supporters of the overthrown
king, James II) conspiracies of the time, this is the first
of three works in which Marryat builds his story around
historical events, rather than those of his own time.
McBooks Press offers all titles on its website at 30% off list prices: www.mcbooks.com.
18 | QUARTERDECK | JUNE 2013