Boatman's dream 12

Arthur was looking out of the clubhouse window at the phosphorescence.  The tide was almost fully in and the light from the clubhouse picked out arcs of foam rolling onto the beach.

 “Ten and a half metres tonight.”  Dennis observed.  “It’s High Water in fifteen minutes.  It won’t reach to here.  No need to hurry.”

“Not for you.” Eddie answered.  “I’ve got to drive back to Bridgwater.  Come on, then Merlin.  What’s the big secret?  Why are we putting Arthur up for membership?  And why does he need a mooring?  He ain’t got a boat.”

Merlin called Arthur over from the window.

The expressions of the two men gave nothing away.

They began speaking.  It sounded like a conversation in Welsh to everyone except Taff and Rhys – halting, not particularly fluent, but it was a conversation.

Arthur was unhappy – angry, even.  A very controlled anger. 

Merlin said something to placate him.

“Arthur’s going to help us.  I explained the moorings problem to him this afternoon.  Bellingham-Smythe’s business plan to sell us all down the river, if you’ll excuse the pun.”

“And how’s Arthur going to do that when he doesn’t speak English, or even Welsh?”

“Easy, Taff.   Little by little.  Anyway, he knows more English than he lets on.  He calls it the Saxon language.  Doesn’t like using it.”

“Isn’t that true, Arthur?”

Arthur nodded.

“You speak some English.”

“Some.”

“Enough?”

“Maybe.”

“The boys on the wharf are going to teach him some more.”

“What?” laughed Eddie.  “The bloody wharf rats?”

“Hey!” shouted Dennis.  “Just watch it.”

“The trouble with the wharf rats and live-aboards” Merlin went on, “is they’re too passive.  They don’t want to get involved, and so BS is getting away with murder.  Before you know it, he’ll have the Club’s license byelaw changed and this’ll be one more part of his empire – and with the club goes the moorings.  There’ll be no river access without paying his prices.”

“Fuck that!”  shouted Dennis.  “Over my dead body!”

“How’s he going to change the law?” asked Taff.  “It’s a county council regulation.”

“He’s on the council.”

“Bollocks, he is!”

“He is.”

“Since when?”

“A week last Wednesday.  He won the Cherry Field ward.”

“Shit.”

“You should read the paper, Taff.”

“It’s full of politics.”

“But the Club’s a charity.” Dennis remonstrated, “We own it mutually.”

“Like we owned the mooring rights mutually?  Everyone has their price, Den.  He’s a carpet-bagger.  His business cronies are lined up already.  He’s been sweet-talking all the councillors who run small-businesses.  They’re pushing to sell this little lot and develop it as a marine resort.”

“But we’ve had rights on this water for a thousand years.”

“Give or take.”

“It’s a birthright.”

“For now.”

“Bollocks!”

“You see, that’s where Arthur’s interest comes in.  Do you know what he asked?”

No one answered.

“Is BS a Saxon?”

Laughter.

 “He’s as good as.” Ronnie shouted.  “Bloody Essex City-boy.  He’s an invader if ever there was one.”

“But he’s got a lot of support in the town.”  I put in. “Everyone’s talking about the money his developments are bringing in.”

“Yes.” agreed Merlin.  “The newspaper’s definitely behind him.  But nobody’s raised the issue of the moorings yet.  My plan – and Arthur’s up for it – is that we start stirring up some unrest among the local folks down here.  Listen.  Once these rights are gone, they’re gone for good. ”

“So what do we do?”

“Arthur’s moving onto the wharf tomorrow.   I’m loaning him Sea Mistress.  She'll never go back in the water, but she’s comfortable and dry.”

“And how’s he supposed to talk to anyone?” asked Rhys.

“He’s got the basics.  He just needs a lot more practice, and other people to stand up and do some of the talking.  He’s got the presence.”

Five pairs of eyes stared quizzically at Merlin.  “And who’s going to do all this?”

“You lot.  And anyone else we can round up.  If anyone asks, he’s an old mate of mine from the hills.  Native Welsh speaker.  In fact, he never left the farm.”

“And all this stuff about coming to save the Realm?”

“The Realm’s fine, Taff.  Stuff and nonsense.  A misunderstanding.”

Arthur seemed about to speak, but gave a weary shake of his head instead.

“It happens.” Merlin shrugged. “Water under the bridge.”

“So that’s it, then.  Arthur moves onto the wharf tomorrow.  Then on Wednesday night, we’ll have him elected to the Club and issue him a Mooring License.  He’ll be one of us.”

“OK.” Ronnie stood up.  “I’m on board.”

The rest of us followed suit.

“Good.” Merlin clasped his hands together.  “I suggest we keep the detail between ourselves.  Agreed?”

“If we tell anyone about this, we’ll be locked-up.”

“They don’t need any excuse with you, Ed.”

There was laughter and a collective sigh.

“Right! Anyone for a drink before I close up?”

Arthur was first to the bar.  “Cider.”