Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 August 1936

   Jack Reynolds wiped the sweat from his eyes and stepped back.  The
afternoon was hot and he had been hard at for hours, least ways, it felt
like hours.

   "What're you doing?"

   He started at the unexpected voice and turned.  The owner of the voice
was staring at him quizzically.  "Working on my boat.  What does it look
like?"

   The girl said nothing but continued to stare.  She moved closer and
switched her gaze from the boat to Jack.  "How come you've got a boat
then?"

   Jack snorted.  "She's a wreck.  My Dad was goin' to scrap her but he
said if I could fix her I could have her.  So I'm fixin' her."

   "What sort of boat is it, I mean, she?"

   "Three ton Bermudan Sloop, clinker built, pitch pine on oak with teak
decks.  Lovely job, not her fault she got wrecked."

   "So what're you doing now, then?

   Jack regarded her in silence for a moment.  He wasn't really used to
talking to girls, spending all his spare time in the boatyard in the
company of shipwrights and sail-makers.  He reckoned she must be a couple
of years younger than he was, which would make her about twelve and
therefore in the 'nuisance' category.  She was tall, nearly as tall as Jack
himself, and skinny with long thin arms and legs.  Her fairish hair was
long and tangled by the stiff breeze that rattled the halyards of the
moored boats and scattered white horses on the sparkling sea.  She might be
quite pretty one day, he decided.

   "Well, the daft bugger who owned her managed to dismast her and she ran
up on them rocks." He waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the
headland. "I'm cutting out the planks that got stove in and goin' to fit
new ones.  Might have to replace this here rib first." He gestured into the
gaping hole in the boat's side.  "Don't know yet.  I'll have to ask me Dad,
I 'spect." The girl nodded in solemn agreement.

   "What's she called?" she asked.

   Jack smiled.  "Don't rightly know, yet.  She was called 'Tiffin'.  Just
the sort o' daft name a daft bugger would call a boat.  I'll think of
something good, you wait 'n' see!" Again she nodded with apparent
satisfaction.

   "You on holiday, are you?" Jack said.  For some reason he wanted the
conversation to continue.  She smiled and nodded.  "Goin' to shake your
fool head off, you keep doin' that." But his smile took away any sting.  He
noticed her eyes were green; the colour of the sea on certain days when a
storm is coming and the sky is troubled and grey.

   "I'm Jack Reynolds.  This is my Dad's yard.  What's your name?"

   "Elizabeth.  Most people call me Beth, though.  You are lucky to live
her all the time.  We live in London.  My Dad's a Bank Manager."

   "Never been to London.  What's it like?"

   "You've never been to London?  How old are you?"

   Jack bridled at the implied criticism.  If he were honest, the furthest
he had ever been was Plymouth.  But he had sailed far and wide with the
fishing boats and could navigate from here to Brittany.  He could hand reef
and steer and repair the clunky old diesel engines.  He could patch a hole
and caulk and make good sprung planking, but he had never been to his
nation's capital city.

   "Never had no call to go to London," he said.  "Got everything I need
here.  An' if London's so great, why do all you Londoners come down here
for the summer?"

   She shrugged.  "It's lovely here, so peaceful.  And you've got the sea
and not the smelly old Thames.  We come every August."

   Jack said nothing but continued to glare at the girl who, as he saw it,
had exposed some lack in him.

   Beth looked at the boy.  She had just started to notice boys in a
different way.  He was quite good-looking, she decided.  She liked the way
his hair curled, thick and dark over his ears.  His skin was deeply tanned
and smooth looking and he had bright blue eyes that still managed to look
nice even when he was scowling at her.

   "Can I help?" she said and was pleased when he looked surprised.

   "S'pose you could help with the rubbin' down," he admitted and gave her
a piece of rough sandpaper stretched over a block of scrap wood.  "Easiest
if you do it fore and aft, with the grain," he said and demonstrated.

   The afternoon passed swiftly and they found themselves comfortable in
each other's company.  Neither was by nature especially talkative so they
found no difficulty in the silences.  Beth proved herself an adept pupil
and it seemed to Jack that really listened to him when he was explaining
something.  At fourteen, he was not used to getting such rapt attention. 
At six o'clock a whistle blew, the signal for the end of the day's labour,
but Jack kept working.

   "Aren't we going to stop, too?" She asked.  Jack smiled.  "We're not on
wages, girl.  I got to do as much as I can durin' the holiday.  An' I got
to go fishing with my Uncle Bill next week so won't get much done.  You can
stop now if you like, though."

   "I think I'd better.  My parents will be wondering where I am.  Are you
going to be here tomorrow?"

   "Afternoon.  Got my chores in the morning."

   "Chores?  What are chores?"

   Jack stared her in utter disbelief.  "Jobs what I got to do, course! 
Don't you have no chores to do for your folk, then?"

   She shook her head.  She felt awkward, sensing the gulf between their
lives, the daughter of a Bank Manager and the son of a boat builder. 
"We're on holiday," she said lamely.

   Jack nodded as if this explanation was acceptable.  "That'll be it,
then," he said.  "See you tomorrow?" He was surprised to discover how
pleased he felt when she said yes.

   The rest of the summer passed all too quickly for Jack.  Beth met him
each afternoon he went to the yard and proved such a quick learner he
started to trust her with more complex tasks like stripping rigging blocks
and cutting new thole pins for the boat's tiny dinghy.  Her parents had
come to the yard once to see how she was spending her summer.  Jack had
stood tongue-tied as she explained what they had done and pointed out the
remaining work.

   Her parents were like creatures from another world to Jack.  'Big City
Folk,' his father had called them but had greeted them politely enough and
chatted a bit with Beth's Dad about the situation in Europe.  It had come
as a surprise, therefore, when Beth had announced she was leaving the next
day.  "Our time's up, I'm afraid.  Back home and then back to school." Jack
had nodded dumbly, bereft of words.

   Still, he had put on his Sunday clothes and gone to the station to see
her off.  He was ill at ease as he stood on the platform.  He wanted to be
there but was desperately worried that any of the boys from the town would
see him.  His embarrassment was complete when she suddenly leaned forward
and pecked him on the cheek.  He mumbled something about seeing her next
year and went even redder when her father had laughed something about
'holiday romances.' He wasn't too sure what one was but it didn't sound
like something he would like.

   August 1939

   "What will you do if there's a war, Jack?" Beth seemed able to read his
mind.

   "Join up, I s'pose.  My dad says the Navy'll need proper sailors, just
like last time."

   "Will you be an Officer?"

   "What, me?  Not a chance!"

   "Why ever not, Jack?  I bet you know as much about boats as anyone."

   "Oh, boats, yes.  But it's the other stuff.  I think I'd be happier
takin' orders than giving 'em.  Anyway, I'm not eighteen 'til next May.  It
might all be over be over 'fore then,"

   Beth looked at him carefully.  Each year she had come with her parents
on holiday and each year she had renewed her friendship with Jack.  He had
grown taller, his voice deeper and his chest and shoulders had broadened,
year by year.  He was more man now than boy.  She tried to picture him at
war but her mind, or perhaps her heart, would not let her.  She felt that
was silly.  It wasn't if they were lovers.  They were friends.  She thought
he probably had a girlfriend from the town and felt a small pang of
jealousy.  She would soon be sixteen and quite grown up.  Sometimes she
wished that Jack would think of her like a girlfriend.

   The boat was almost finished.  The hull had been repaired and not one
but three of the oaken ribs had had to be replaced.  They had built a new
interior from marine ply and fitted her out with new berth cushions and a
gimballed paraffin stove paid for from Jack's earnings from the fishing. 
Jack had cut and made a new mast and spars and, with the help of one of the
sailmakers, had cut and sewn new sails and canvas dodgers bearing the name
'Maid Elizabeth.' Beth hadn't seen these yet; they were a surprise.  Now
his mind was on the coming war.  Everyone knew it was going to happen. 
That Churchill had been warning the country for years; only now were people
taking notice.

   Out in the bay these days were warships instead of pleasure craft and in
the last week he had seen two great Battlecruisers, Repulse and Renown, he
thought, forging westwards towards Plymouth with attendant destroyers.  If
war were coming he would be ready for it.  He wouldn't wait until he was
called up.  As soon as he was old enough he would catch the train to
Plymouth and sign up at Devonport Navy Barracks.  His Dad had fought in the
last lot, had been in Warspite at Jutland, soon it would be his turn.

   He came to himself and noticed Beth was very quiet.  "You're not worried
about me, girl?" He tried to make it sound like a joke but it came out
wrongly.

   She tossed her head angrily.  "Of course I am, silly!  Fine friend I'd
be if I wasn't worried."

   "It could all blow over, like Czechoslovakia," he said; but even to him
it sounded unconvincing.

   Beth frowned.  "I don't think so this time.  I think we're really 'for
it' this time."

   "Well, then.  We'd best get this boat in the water while there's still
time."

   "Oh, Jack, is she really finished?"

   "Pretty near.  We'll step the mast and rig her in the water.  First we
got to christen her, though."

   "A name!  You've thought of a name at last!"

   Jack grinned.  "She's had her name since 1936.  Tomorrow we christen
her. I mean I'd like you to do it, Beth, if you will?"

   "Of course I'd love to, silly!  What are you going to call her?"

   "Maid Elizabeth, of course, silly!" And he roared with laughter at her
stunned expression.  "Couldn't be nothin' else, now could it?"

   That last summer of peace slipped away all too swiftly.  Jack and Beth
sailed 'Maid Elizabeth', abbreviated between them to the 'Maid', every day
they could.  She proved a lively sailer, quick and responsive if somewhat
wet.  Jack made plans for some modifications to the cockpit coaming to
counteract this, but these could wait.  After nearly four years of hard
work and patience, The 'Maid' was in her element at last.

   As if reflecting the change, things between Beth and Jack were
different, too.  Jack found himself looking at her surreptitiously whenever
he got the opportunity.  She had certainly filled out.  The skinny arms and
legs were shapely and he couldn't help notice how the front of her canvas
sailing smock now bulged intriguingly.  She was still a kid, he told
himself, but he also had to acknowledge that she was a damn' pretty one. 
Her light brown hair was streaked in places by the sun and her face and
arms were tanned to a delightful honey brown.

   This time when he saw her off at the station, he was no longer awkward
but hoped instead that the town boys would see him with this lovely young
girl, whom, he'd just discovered, now inhabited the body of his friend.

   June 1940

   "Good God Almighty!  Beth, would you look at this!" Beth jumped,
unaccustomed to hearing her father blaspheme.

   He thrust the 'Daily Express' towards her.  "Isn't that your friend,
that Reynolds boy?" She gasped as she saw the photograph.  It was Jack all
right and the 'Maid Elizabeth'.  The 'Maid' was crowded with weary-looking
soldiers.  There must have been over thirty crammed into her twenty-four
foot length.  Jack was unmistakeable in his canvas sailing smock, his thick
dark hair tousled by the wind.  She quickly scanned the story.  It was
about the 'little ships' that had gone to Dunkirk and plucked the British
Army off the beaches.

   Already this massive defeat was being re-written as an epic.  She
supposed it was in a way but, like everyone else, she'd have preferred a
real victory.  "Among the last of the gallant 'little ships' to leave," the
story read, "was the sloop 'Maid Elizabeth' and her eighteen year old
skipper, John Reynolds of Lyme Regis.  'Maid Elizabeth' undertook several
trips from the beaches to the waiting destroyers and then brought home her
own precious cargo after the bigger ships left."

   The article continued in a jingoistic vein before concluding with the
news that John Reynolds would shortly be joining the Royal Navy, after
recovering from 'his ordeal.' Beth handed the newspaper back to her father.
"It is him, isn't it?" he said.  "Yes, Daddy," Beth replied.  " It's Jack,
all right.  In fact, it's Jack all over."

   August 1942

   The small grey ship inched its way up the Mersey to the naval dock. 
Another Atlantic convoy over.  More 'tools to finish the job,' as Churchill
had called them, delivered safely but almost as many now littered the ocean
floor.  Petty Officer (Acting) Jack Reynolds, twenty-one and now a veteran,
was at the wheel, as usual.  As the coxswain of HM Corvette Speedwell, it
was his job to steer the ship in action and at any other time when his
experience and skill was needed, such as entering and leaving harbour.

   Jack's assistant, Leading Seaman 'Tom' Piper gave a gap-toothed grin. 
"Leave, 'swain.  Two bloody glorious weeks!  What you going to do?"

   Jack grunted.  He hadn't really thought much about it.  "Go home, I
s'pose, Tom.  What about you?"

   Piper danced a little jig.  "Nookie, nookie, nookie!!  Then a pint or
ten to wash away the salt.  Then more nookie!"

   Jack looked away.  He felt uncomfortable.  It wasn't that he was a
prude. You couldn't survive three years and more on the lower deck and be a
choirboy.  Somehow he'd never felt it right to go whoring with his
messmates.  He was twenty-one and he'd never even kissed a girl properly.
Always in the background was Beth.  They had written to each other
regularly.  Well, to be honest, she had written regularly and he had
replied when he could.  Whenever the Fleet Mail caught up with Speedwell,
he could be sure of a dozen or so letters in her neat, round hand.  Jack
didn't know how he felt about her.  They had been friends for so long.  She
must be what, nineteen, now.  He hadn't seen her since 1939, since that
last brief summer of peacetime.

   He'd wanted to see her, of course.  Somehow he couldn't quite gather
together his courage and telephone her.  He worried about her.  Living in
London through the Blitz was dangerous.  Thousands had died.  He'd had
messmates who had learnt that their family, be it mum and dad or wife and
children, had been obliterated by the nightly bombing.  London, Coventry,
Bristol, Plymouth and many, many more; they had all suffered the
devastation of modern warfare.  And then there was her.  She probably had a
proper man by now.  London was crawling with young men in uniform.  She'd
be an officer's lady, he thought and felt a wounding stab.

   Lyme had changed.  It was now the base for Motor Torpedo Boats and the
harbour was off-limits to civilians.  Reynolds' Boat Yard was building for
the Navy: Motor Boats and Landing Craft.  The previous month the allies had
invaded Sicily; everyone knew that France would be next; perhaps not this
year but soon.  After a week at home, Jack was climbing the walls with
boredom.  After a couple of nights in the local pub he has stopped going
out.  The complaints about shortages angered him the most.  He had seen the
cost of keeping the country fed.  The shattered ships and drowning men were
engraved forever on his consciousness.  As for his parents well of course
they were pleased to see him but seemed remote, separated from him by
experiences unshared.  In desperation, he resolved to go to London.

   He telephoned her from the station.  "Beth?  It's Jack Reynolds." He
took her silence as disapproval; could imagine her mouthing to someone
'what does he want?' When she spoke it was like hearing music for the very
first time.

   "Jack.  Oh God!  Fantastic!  Where are you?"

   "Um, I'm in London.  Just got off the train.  I, er, I don't s'pose
you're free this evening?"

   "Of course I am for you, silly!"

   He'd still never been to London.  He'd passed through a few times, en
route from one naval base to another but he'd never stopped.  He realised
he hadn't the least idea where to take her.  'Oh well,' he thought, 'it's
her town, I 'spect she'll know somewhere.' He found her house in Palmers
Green without too much difficulty but then spent twenty minutes or so
walking up and down to gather his courage.  She must have seen him from the
window because suddenly she was there beside him.  Her arm slipped through
his and she kissed his cheek.  "You could've come in, you old silly.  We
don't bite you know." Jack looked sheepish and smiled down at her.  He was
overwhelmed with how wonderful she looked.  Yes, he could still see the
remains of the skinny girl from the boatyard but as for the rest.  The only
word that came to mind was 'lovely.' Her long hair was twisted up into
something Jack thought of as 'French-looking'.  Her green eyes sparkled and
her clear complexion seemed to positively glow.

   For her part, she thought Jack looked older.  There were signs of strain
in his face and lines that did not belong on the face of a young man of
twenty one.  It suddenly made the war seem more personal, somehow.  She
leaned into him and squeezed his arm.

   Beth's mother looked out at her daughter and the smiling young man.  She
turned to her husband and said, "She's made her mind up, you know.  He
doesn't know it yet but I do!" Her husband snorted in reply and went on
reading his paper.

   "It's all very well, dear, but this war, it's changed things.  Young
people are in a hurry now.  You can't really blame them.  Look at the
Owens's girl, married at eighteen and a widow four months later.  You're
going to have to speak to her, make sure she doesn't do anything rash."

   Beth's father put the newspaper down with slow deliberation.  "Since
when has anything I've said made the slightest difference?  She's her
mother's daughter, that one.  Pretty as a picture and stubborn as a mule -
just like you!" He smiled fondly.  "She's old enough now to know her own
mind and young Jack's a steady sort.  I can't see him rushing into
anything. To be honest, I don't think I'd object if they did.  This war
won't last for ever and that Boatyard is a sound little business.  It
wouldn't surprise me if Reynolds didn't do very well out of this war and
all those Government contracts."

   "Spoken like a Bank Manager!  I just don't want to see her hurt."

   "And would it hurt less if they weren't married?  Anyway, I thinking
you're jumping the gun.  It takes two to Tango, you know, and he's probably
got a girl in every port.  You know what sailors are!"

   "Not that one.  He's been mad about her for years, he just hasn't
realised it yet."

   But he had.  As Beth dragged him towards the house, Jack knew, for the
first time, that he was in love.

   The rest of that week passed in a blur for Jack.  He felt giddy,
exalted. They went dancing at the Hammersmith Palais and found quiet pubs
in which to sit and talk.  Once they went to the pictures and Jack fell
asleep while Beth wept silently at the heroine's demise.  All too soon they
found themselves on Euston station, clinging to each other until the very
last minute the crowded train was due to leave.

   Jack kissed her hair.  "You're my girl, now, right?"

   "Oh, you silly, I've always been your girl!  Right from that first
afternoon in the boatyard when you were trying to be so grown up and
fierce. It's just taken you a little time to catch up, that's all!"

   Jack hugged her tightly.  She was right, of course.  It had taken him
time but then, he'd never dared to hope.  He had no experience, not like
Tom Piper.  Jack only knew that now he had Beth there could never be anyone
else.

   November 1942

   "My Darling Beth

   I can't tell you where we are but I can say we're all all right and will
be in here in Dock for a couple of days.  I think about you all the time.
It helps me get through.

   Anyway, I was able to get ashore yesterday and I might have done
something silly.  That'll depend on you.  You see, I bought a ring.  What
I'm trying to say, my love, is that I'd be the happiest man in the world if
you'll agree to be my wife.

   I know I'm supposed to go down on one knee and to ask your Dad's
permission and all that but it's a bit difficult when I'm so far away.  So
I'll just kneel down now and pray you say yes.

   With all my heart,

   Jack"

   Beth clutched the letter to her breast and danced around the kitchen. 
"He wants to marry me!  He wants to marry me!" Her mother looked up from
the pastry she was making.  She was about to make some cautionary remark
but the pure joy radiating from Beth overcame her.  She felt her heart
melting and hugged her daughter close.  "Of course he does, the boy's not a
fool!  I'm so happy for you, darling.  I mean, you are going to say yes?"

   "Oh yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!" Beth still twirled like a dervish, the
letter held in both hands, now, at arm's length.  "I love him, Mummy; I
always have.  I think I've loved him since I was twelve.  Oh I do wish this
war would end and we can be together always."

   August 1943

   "I now pronounce you man and wife.  Er, you may kiss the bride."

   It had all been arranged in a rush.  Jack's leave had come unexpectedly.
'Speedwell' had thrown her propellor shaft out of alignment and had limped
into Liverpool four days before.  Since then it had all been a whirl; the
special licence secured, the church arranged, his parents summoned to
London.  And there had been the matter of the interview with his Captain to
request permission to marry.

   Jack had four days' leave for the wedding.  One had been consumed by a
torturous journey from Liverpool to London - a matter of four hours in
peacetime but three times that now, with stops for air raids and higher
priority traffic.  The second day had been spent in feverish preparations,
the third was set aside for the wedding.  He knew that the last day would
have to be spent travelling back.  He groaned inwardly at the thought that
they would have only a brief few hours together before that great
relentless, all-devouring beast, the war, claimed him again.

   The reception had been brief.  Rationing prevented much in the way of a
wedding feast but the spirit was the same heady mixture of joy and hope and
relief.  They had blushed at the innuendo-laden speech of Tom Piper, the
Best Man, and toasted the King with all solemnity.  Jack's mother had shed
a tear and her father had enveloped Beth in a huge bear-hug, welcoming her
to the family.  Now they were alone the small hotel room Jack had been able
to procure near Euston Station.

   "We'll do it properly one day," he said.  "I dunno, maybe go to Scotland
or someplace like that." Beth wasn't sure where someplace like Scotland
might be but she nodded happily anyway.

   "Jack, my love, it doesn't matter where, it only matters who.  And the
'who' that matters is you.  We're married now and we'll be together always,
won't we?"

   "Come hell or high water, girl, we'll be together."

   The bed stood behind them like a huge question mark.  Their love, until
this moment, had had no physical expression.  They had kissed and hugged
but that was all.  Now Beth felt suddenly shy and Jack, seeing this steal
over her face in a rising suffusion of pink, was overcome by a feeling of
great tenderness, combined with a nameless dread.  His throat constricted
and he had the urge to run while feeling deep within him, a sense of rising
need.  He reached a tentative hand towards her face and gently stroked her
cheek.  A small tear glistened beneath one eye and he smoothed it away with
a thumb.

   He wrapped her softly in his arms and kissed her hair.  Her heart
hammered against her ribs and he felt the rapid beating against his chest.
He bent his head and kissed her face and she angled her head until her
mouth met his.  The sweetness in her kiss held a hint of something else and
he felt his cock stir.  Beth felt it too and turned her hips to press
herself against it.  Her kisses now were full of hunger and she could feel
a spreading heat in her lower belly.  Her hips seemed to be moving
involuntarily as she ground against him.  She was consumed with the need of
him.  She craved the weight of his body upon her and the burgeoning
thickness she could feel pressing into her belly seemed to send sparks
through her whole being.

   Her voice was husky as she whispered "Now Jack, I want you now." They
undressed quickly and clumsily, Jack falling as he tugged at his trousers,
having forgotten first to remove his shoes.  Their laughter defused the
intensity and they could slip between the cold sheets grinning like naughty
children.  Jack moved to switch off the lamp but she stayed his hand,
whispering, "No, I want to see, my love." Beth gazed at his body.  The pale
skin of his torso contrasted sharply with the weather-beaten arms and face.
His erection rose like a ruddy tower out of the tangle of tight curls and
she gasped.  'Oh God, will it fit?' she thought and jumped as his hand
found her breast, sending electricity speeding from her hardened nipple to
the junction of her thighs.  Jack felt a deep awe.  The smoothness of her
skin was like satin under his calloused fingers as he trailed down her
flanks and over the swell of her hip.  He moved his mouth to capture one
dusky pink nipple and moaned with the force of the emotion that surged
within him.  He thought his heart would burst, it felt so full of love and
wonder.

   Beth arched her back and seized his hand, pushing it from her hip
towards the sweet fire burning between her legs.  She gave a small scream
as his fingers probed between the dewy lips and brushed her clitoris.

   "Now Jack, now!"

   "Oh, yes!"

   "Oh my God!"

   "My love, my love"

   "Ahhh!!"

   "Oh Christ, I'm sorry."

   "Don't stop!  If you stop I'll ...  Ohhh!!!"

   "I love you so much"

   "Oh, Jack, pleasssee!!!!!"

   "Yes."

   "Oh yes, yes, yes, YESSS!!!!"

   He lay back panting and hugged her against his chest.  She felt a glow
deep within her that seemed to ebb and flow in time with the beating of her
heart.  Her fingers twined in his chest hair and she kissed the sweat that
glistened on his shoulder and neck.

   "Did it hurt so much?"

   "A little, but it was a nice hurt"

   "I didn't want to hurt you"

   "You didn't.  It wasn't you, it was my silly maidenhead.  I'm glad it's
gone.  I'm so very glad it was you."

   "Oh my girl, I love you so much."

   "I wish tonight could last forever!"

   But nothing lasts forever and the next day she saw him off on the train
back to the war.



   June 1944

   Jack adjusted his balance to the ship's rolling and peered into the
gloom beyond the bows.  The pre-dawn blackness seemed particularly intense
and he had to strain to see the telltale blue flicker of the stern light of
the next ship in line ahead.  He could sense, but could not see, the great
convoy of vessels heading for the coast of France.  As they had formed up
the previous evening he had gaped in amazement at the sheer size of the
assembled armada.  The great grey battleships, his father's old ship,
Warspite among them: The landing ships packed with troops.  They had all
felt a sense of, well, history as they had gaped from the decks of little
Speedwell.

   Now, as the sky started to lighten, he could hear the steady pinging of
the Asdic, sweeping for submarines and the occasional stamping of feet on
the bridge above the wheelhouse.  The voice-pipe in front of Jack whistled
and a tinny voice gave him a new course to steer.  He repeated the order
and spun the wheel, feeling the ship's motion increase as she swung
broadside on to the swell.  He didn't hear the explosion.  He just saw the
brilliant flash that seemed to burn right into his skull.  The mine must
have been disturbed by the ship ahead.  The corvette nudged one of those
deadly horns with its thin steel flank, the point of impact just below the
bridge.  It broke her back, the thrust of her propeller forcing her
steadily under the waves.

   It was still dark when Beth was awoken by the sensation of a kiss on her
forehead.  She murmured sleepily.  "Hello, darling," and sighed contentedly
as kisses trailed down her neck to her breast.  He smelt warm and salty,
somehow.  His mouth was moving lower and she gasped as his tongue entered
her.  She lay back with her eyes closed and luxuriated in the delicious
sensations that flooded her.  She might even have cried out as he entered
her and she felt the power of his body moving above her.  When it came, her
orgasm was so intense that she blacked out momentarily, all her senses
consumed by the shuddering ecstasy.  When she woke again, it was light. 
And she was alone.

   "What time did Jack leave?" she asked her mother at breakfast.  "Jack? I
think you must have been dreaming, darling.  Jack's at sea."

   She shrugged and then her attention was caught by the voice of the BBC
Announcer.

   "At dawn this morning, allied forces landed on the coast of Normandy
supported by airborne landings at strategic points inland..." It sounded as
if the landings were a success and Beth felt her heart leap at the thought
that this might really mean the war would soon be over.  She was hugging
this thought to herself when the voice cut through her reverie.  "The
admiralty regrets to announce the loss of His Majesty's Ships Archon,
Buccleuch and Speedwell." She heard no more but stood, ashen-faced, her
hands clasping her belly where she could feel the first stirrings of new
life within her womb.

   August 1946

   Beth Reynolds stood in the warm sunlight and looked at the
canvas-covered hull in the corner of the boatyard.

   "I reckon she's rightly yours, Beth" said her father-in-law and gave her
a shoulder a squeeze.  She leaned on the pushchair in front of her where
the breeze ruffled her son's dark curls.  She looked up at the elderly man
beside her, seeing in the lines etched on his face a reflection of her own
sufferings.

   "I'll need some help to put her right and Little Jack, here, isn't going
to be up to it for a year or two!"

   "Don't you worry 'bout that, none, girl.  I reckon between us we can see
'Maid' right."

   "And Little Jack will need to learn to sail her."

   "Ah, that he will, my girl, that he will."

   They exchanged slow smiles and each felt, for the first time, the long
shadow of sorrow beginning to lift.  Above them a sea bird soared and
circled, its harsh cries sounding unusually triumphant.


   The End