al I could of the various tongues. If I was to be a rover, and I was, it would be necessary. They could have been birds for al I understood of them, these foreign people.
What good was that? Plain, unremarkable John Copper earned my admiration with his skil .
The people drew back respectful y when the captain came walking down the beach with Rainey and Comeragh and Henry Cash, the dog trotting circles as if rounding them up, running ahead, running back.
‘Samson,’ Proctor cal ed, ‘heel, heel!’
We brought ourselves to attention with the dog and awaited orders.
Captain Proctor said al was in order for trading. Simon Flower was to take charge of the measuring with Martin Hannah. Those who wished could take a run ashore, those who wished could return to the ship. ‘I want fair trading,’ he announced, his pale, freckled hand tickling the back of the dog’s ear, ‘and may I take this opportunity’, clearing his throat, ‘to remind those of you who choose to stay ashore, that you are guests upon this island. Any misdemeanours …’
he paused ‘… of any kind …’, panting moistly, soft-eyed, Samson whined, ‘… wil be punished with utmost severity.’
He scanned us with his pale questioning blue eyes as if searching for dissent.
‘Utmost severity,’ he repeated thoughtful y.
Mr Rainey stepped forward from the smal line-up of him and Comeragh and Cash. Why Cash? Standing there with his cool half smile, as if he was a mate already.
‘If I might comment,’ Mr Rainey said.
‘Most certainly, Mr Rainey,’ replied Captain Proctor pleasantly.
‘It occurs to me that Copper might be a wiser choice than Hannah, sir. Copper has a smattering of the native tongue.
Hannah, I believe, has none.’
There was an odd moment. Captain Proctor’s hand stopped fondling his dog. Cash gave a slight nod, and Comeragh looked away. The captain’s eyes flickered, he adjusted his hat. ‘Thank you, Mr Rainey,’ he said smoothly,
‘a good suggestion. Copper, Flower – fair dealing.’
It was a good choice. John Copper knew what he was about. He told me later he’d worked on his aunt’s fish stal in Hul since he was about six years old. John measured fairly with quart pot and pint cup, a frown of concentration pleating the skin between his eyes. It was funny to hear him switch between his native Yorkshire and pig Portuguese as he haggled gamely with the noisy women. ‘Três, senhora, três so! Bastante! Obrigado, obrigado, depois por favor.’
The rest of us who’d gone ashore were free to roam around the town, and a sweet little town it was, ful of narrow cobbled lanes and donkeys and flowers and smal white houses with patterned tiles upon the wal s. Some of the buildings were grand, with fine balconies that overhung the road, flowers cascading, but mostly the houses were poor, and the children who peeped out of their doorways were barefoot and raggy, with bright, dark eyes. The men were shabby. The women carried pots on their heads and wore long cloaks with stiff hoods in spite of the warmth of the day.
But there was nothing in the shops we wanted, and anyway we had no money. So after a while me and Tim strol ed out of town along a narrow climbing lane hedged with great clumps of pink and purple flowers, and we saw a wooden plough drawn by two oxen, and a couple of men digging in the fields. High bamboo hedges divided the land. Here and there were cottages with scabby thatched roofs.
We climbed til the land became woody. Big rocks poured water down into the gul eys at the sides of the track.
‘To think there’s this,’ I said. ‘Al the time.’ It seemed to me for one moment that unhappiness was a nonsense. I thought of my mother gutting fish in Limehouse and Ishbel coming off Quashies’ stage.
‘I know exactly what you mean,’ Tim said.
It was a funny thing with me and Tim. I don’t think we ever real y had any proper conversations, not what you’d real y cal a conversation, not like I’ve had
What good was that? Plain, unremarkable John Copper earned my admiration with his skil .
The people drew back respectful y when the captain came walking down the beach with Rainey and Comeragh and Henry Cash, the dog trotting circles as if rounding them up, running ahead, running back.
‘Samson,’ Proctor cal ed, ‘heel, heel!’
We brought ourselves to attention with the dog and awaited orders.
Captain Proctor said al was in order for trading. Simon Flower was to take charge of the measuring with Martin Hannah. Those who wished could take a run ashore, those who wished could return to the ship. ‘I want fair trading,’ he announced, his pale, freckled hand tickling the back of the dog’s ear, ‘and may I take this opportunity’, clearing his throat, ‘to remind those of you who choose to stay ashore, that you are guests upon this island. Any misdemeanours …’
he paused ‘… of any kind …’, panting moistly, soft-eyed, Samson whined, ‘… wil be punished with utmost severity.’
He scanned us with his pale questioning blue eyes as if searching for dissent.
‘Utmost severity,’ he repeated thoughtful y.
Mr Rainey stepped forward from the smal line-up of him and Comeragh and Cash. Why Cash? Standing there with his cool half smile, as if he was a mate already.
‘If I might comment,’ Mr Rainey said.
‘Most certainly, Mr Rainey,’ replied Captain Proctor pleasantly.
‘It occurs to me that Copper might be a wiser choice than Hannah, sir. Copper has a smattering of the native tongue.
Hannah, I believe, has none.’
There was an odd moment. Captain Proctor’s hand stopped fondling his dog. Cash gave a slight nod, and Comeragh looked away. The captain’s eyes flickered, he adjusted his hat. ‘Thank you, Mr Rainey,’ he said smoothly,
‘a good suggestion. Copper, Flower – fair dealing.’
It was a good choice. John Copper knew what he was about. He told me later he’d worked on his aunt’s fish stal in Hul since he was about six years old. John measured fairly with quart pot and pint cup, a frown of concentration pleating the skin between his eyes. It was funny to hear him switch between his native Yorkshire and pig Portuguese as he haggled gamely with the noisy women. ‘Três, senhora, três so! Bastante! Obrigado, obrigado, depois por favor.’
The rest of us who’d gone ashore were free to roam around the town, and a sweet little town it was, ful of narrow cobbled lanes and donkeys and flowers and smal white houses with patterned tiles upon the wal s. Some of the buildings were grand, with fine balconies that overhung the road, flowers cascading, but mostly the houses were poor, and the children who peeped out of their doorways were barefoot and raggy, with bright, dark eyes. The men were shabby. The women carried pots on their heads and wore long cloaks with stiff hoods in spite of the warmth of the day.
But there was nothing in the shops we wanted, and anyway we had no money. So after a while me and Tim strol ed out of town along a narrow climbing lane hedged with great clumps of pink and purple flowers, and we saw a wooden plough drawn by two oxen, and a couple of men digging in the fields. High bamboo hedges divided the land. Here and there were cottages with scabby thatched roofs.
We climbed til the land became woody. Big rocks poured water down into the gul eys at the sides of the track.
‘To think there’s this,’ I said. ‘Al the time.’ It seemed to me for one moment that unhappiness was a nonsense. I thought of my mother gutting fish in Limehouse and Ishbel coming off Quashies’ stage.
‘I know exactly what you mean,’ Tim said.
It was a funny thing with me and Tim. I don’t think we ever real y had any proper conversations, not what you’d real y cal a conversation, not like I’ve had
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