Pumpkin
Mice Tales (4)
The holiday – part two
The following morning, the small Pumpkin Mice woke early, eager to explore their new surroundings. They were a little disappointed to find that the Fishermice had left late the night before, but cheered up when they heard that they would be back soon to greet their little cousins.
A lovely surprise awaited them, though, for Sergeant Cheeseman, of the First Mousehole Artillery, had arrived after they had all gone to bed. Big Brown Mouse and White Mouse with the exceedingly long and beautiful green tail (startling green and quite the longest tail ever seen in Mousedom) had welcomed him and given him a late supper of bread and Mousetrap.
Sergeant Cheeseman, of the First Mousehole Artillery, knew the area well, for he had grown up there, and he offered to take them all to the beach and later to the lifeboat station at Newlyn, just two miles along the coast from Mousehole.
He
explained that the lifeboat was crewed by volunteers. Tiny Grey piped up, ‘What
does that mean?’ and his jaw dropped when he understood that they offered to go
out in dreadful storms and were never paid for their bravery. Sergeant Cheeseman, of the First Mousehole Artillery, said,
‘Your cousins, the Fishermice, all volunteer for the Penlee boat at Newlyn.’
Little White - she's very proud of her pretty pink tail and nose
Little White asked, ‘Is it dangerous?’ and her eyes grew round when she learnt that it could be very, very dangerous, and sometimes crew members lost their lives.
Sergeant Cheeseman, of the First Mousehole Artillery, said, ‘Let me tell you a story about a boat called the Solomon Browne. In December, 1981, on a dark stormy night just before Christmas, the Solomon Browne was launched in a Force 12 hurricane – yes, that’s very strong,’ he said quickly, as he saw Small Brown about to ask a question, ‘and the eight lifeboatmen, from Mousehole and Newlyn, set out to help a ship in distress. The Coxswain of the Solomon Browne chose his seven crew from the twelve volunteers who reported for duty that night, and they all knew the dangers they were facing. The coaster they went to help was called the Union Star and its engines had failed – they’d stopped working - and there were eight people on board, the Captain, his wife, two daughters and four crew. The wind was howling, and the waves were 60 feet high – that’s like six houses one on top of the other.’
‘Wow,’ breathed all the Mousekins, ‘That’s big.’
Sergeant Cheeseman, of the First Mousehole Artillery, nodded and continued, ‘Earlier, a helicopter had tried to rescue them, but the winds were too strong, blowing 100 miles an hour, and so they had to call the lifeboat. The Solomon Browne battled through the heavy seas, and came alongside the Union Star, banging and smashing against it in the mountainous waves. It was hard for the men to keep their balance; the wind was shrieking and the sea was crashing thunderously across the boat’s deck. After several attempts they managed to get four people across onto the Solomon Browne and sent a message by radio, “We’ve got four off.”
That was the last anyone ever heard from anyone on either boat.’
There was silence as the Mousekins absorbed this information. Sergeant Cheeseman, of the First Mousehole Artillery, said quietly, ‘Lifeboats from three other stations tried to help, but they couldn’t do anything in the treacherous weather. Wreckage from the Solomon Browne washed up later along the shore and the Union Star was found capsized on the rocks. Some of the bodies of the sixteen people were found, but the rest were never recovered, though many search parties went out.’
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‘Oh, that’s so sad,’ said Little White tremulously and the other Mousekins nodded their heads and wiped their eyes with their paws and tails.
‘But, do you know,’ said Sergeant Cheeseman, of the First Mousehole Artillery, ‘Within a day of this dreadful tragedy, enough volunteers from Mousehole had come forward to form a new lifeboat crew, and more than £3 million was raised for the families of those men who were lost. That’s more than £14 million today.’
Seeing how sombre the Mousekins had become, he said, ‘How about an ice-cream?’ and the Mousekins, being young and not yet in the habit of dwelling on catastrophes, brightened up immediately.
When they returned home, they were greeted by their Fishermice cousins.
‘Tomorrow,’ said the Fishermice, ‘Would you like to come out on the fishing smack with us?’
Tiny Grey asked, 'Why is it called a smack and not just a boat?'
'Well, now,' said Skipper Fishermouse, 'Smack comes from an Old Dutch word, smak, which means a sharp slapping sound. That was the sound the sails made when the wind caught them.'
'Has your smack got sails?' Little White asked.
Skipper Fishermouse guffawed and said, 'No, my little maid. We're all modern now, with an engine. Are you looking forward to some fishing tomorrow?'
The Mousekins nodded their heads vigorously. They were enjoying their holiday so much, but the fresh, salty air had tired them, and they were happy to go early to their beds.
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