Hard-'Ship'

• Jonathan James, Grade 6
• Poetry
• 2007

Whoosh!...
My feeling of emptiness was as strong as the waves of the stormy sea beating against the side of the ship and my tears mingled with the thrashing waves.
As the sight of warm, dry land disappeared from view, my mind was clouded with worries; what would happen to Mary and John, who would be killed, would I even find out or would I join the other souls and their ships at the bottom of the sea?
“Officer Stirwell, to the bridge.” boomed the loud speaker. All worries were swept from my mind. I had a job to do and any true man puts honour and valour above worry and doubt.
That evening I had my first taste of ship life, potatoes, bully beef and hardly any sleep. When I arose next morning it was straight to work, the start of 12 hour days. For the next fortnight nothing changed, not even the weather. Then it happened.
I was sitting down about to start my late dinner when the ship rolled sharply to port. Panicked cries came from below. My feet strangely started warming up. There was a moment of dead silence as the crew realised what was happening. I ran outside to hear the Captain roar,” Get down to the boiler room and help you FOOLS”. Below, I found three things; mass confusion, fire and chaos. People were running this way and that, randomly throwing water on the fires with little effect. I took charge barking orders. All night long we worked together, but it was just impossible to battle the fire, fuelled as it was by two weeks supply of coal.
Just as we were about to change shift, there was a great creaking noise and the last boiler fell over. My hands flew up to my face but they were half a second too late. My hair was completely singed as my cap was hit by a flurrying wave of wind and fire. I fell…falling through a murky, never-ending, black darkness.
Then out of that darkness came my ship, and… miles away the ghostly shadow of the Bismark. I wanted to alert the crew. Except, all I could do was to watch helplessly as the German battleship reloaded their turrets and opened fire. Within minutes my ship looked like an elongated donut and we had abandoned ship to our basic, little, life rafts. Still I felt like I was falling… falling. I noticed that someone was face down in the nearest boat, someone who had their singed off, just like mine. I wasn’t the only one that was hit. Just as that thought entered my mind I finally regained consciousness.
My eyes flicked open. I rolled over and sat up. Next to me were Nigel and Peter relief evident in their voices,
“You OK, mate?” I nodded in agreement. Hours passed silently until a destroyer arrived. Safely onboard all I could do was to gesture for pen and paper.
Diary: Tuesday 2nd June 1941
Whoosh!…