Shortly after 08.40 I felt the engines slow, then Mault’s voice called for the watch on deck to muster and put fenders out on the starb’d side. Somebody was coming aboard, presumably from the patrol boat. The engines stopped, feet pounding on the deck and orders shouted, then a slight bump as the other vessel came alongside. This was the moment they should have dropped me over the side, but nobody came and the beat of the engines started up again.
It was 08.55 when Petty Officer Jarvis knocked at the cabin door. ‘Everything’s ready, sir, if you’ll bring the wet suit with you. And the Captain asked me to give you this.’
‘What is it?’ I asked as he handed me a nasty-looking bit of black fur in a plastic bag.
‘A beard, sir. Compliments of our entertainments officer. The Captain thought it might help if somebody had their glasses on you.’
There was a CPO waiting for us on the flight deck. The sailboard was propped against the hangar doors, mast and sail rigged, and a thin line attached to the bows was coiled ready. To starb’d the cliffs of La Mola and the brown of the military casements came into view. ‘We’ll be approaching the narrows at the southern end of Lazareto Island in a few minutes,’ the CPO said. ‘Lieutenant Craig estimates the distance from the buoys marking the narrows to the spot where we’ll be anchoring as roughly nine cables. He’ll stop engines when we come abreast of the little island immediately beyond Lazareto. That will be the signal for you to go.’
I stripped off my clothes and he helped me into the wet suit, zipping me up and slipping a bum-bolster round my buttocks. ‘’Fraid the harness isn’t exactly a speed seat. You’ll have to adjust it as you go. And the board’s just an ordinary production job for funboard sailing, so if you want air, you won’t find it.’ Looking at it, I could see it was no jump board, more a beginner’s board, which suited me in the circumstances. ‘Got any goggles?’ I asked.
He reached into his pocket and produced a narrow, almost slit-eyed pair with black surround. I put them on and adjusted them to fit my head. ‘Don’t forget the beard, sir.’ He was grinning. ‘You look like you could play Mephistopheles in that. Nobody could possibly recognise you.’
By then the conical buoy with its flashing light marking the channel on the starb’d side was already bobbing in our wash, the sharp southern point of Lazareto, Punta de San Felipet, appearing at the same instant. The engines were slowing now, the speed dropping off. ‘How long do you reckon?’ I asked the CPO.
‘Seven, eight minutes.’
The beard was close-fitting and warm, the sea goggles on the tight side. They wrapped up my clothes and taped them into a plastic bag, which they tied firmly to the base of the sailboard’s mast in such a way that it did not restrict its pintle fitting. Petty Officer Jarvis excused himself. He had to attend to the needs of the Captain and his visitor, who was the Spanish Navy’s
Cala Pedrera. Punta de Medio. I could see Punta de Cala Fonts coming up, and beyond the point, the Villa Carlos promenade with its hotels and restaurants and the Cafayas light. ‘Stand by, sir.’ The engines were slowing, the sound of water slipping past the plates dying away. I caught a glimpse to starb’d of the Plana de Mahon light. ‘Ready?’ The CPO took one end of the sailboard, I took the other. A few steps, a heave, and it was overboard, the slim board surfing alongside as he held it by the line. ‘Away you go, sir, and whatever you do, hang on to the beard. Entertainments want it back.’ He was grinning as he clapped me on the shoulder. Not quite a shove, but it reminded me of the one occasion I had parachuted under instruction. I jumped, my head in my arms, my knees up in a foetal position. Wham! I hit the water, the ship still moving, its displacement dragging me under. And then I was up, the grey stern moving past, the board within yards, anchored by the sail which was lying flat on the surface.
