Lifeboat! Read Free Page A

him leap to his feet.
    â€˜Bend over, Matthews,’ the headmaster would say with resignation.
    â€˜Yes, sir. Do you know, sir, it was the fastest launch this year? I timed it. Twelve minutes, forty-five seconds.’ (Whack) ‘It’s a member of the crew of a trawler, sir, he’s got an appendicitis that’s gone wrong.’ (Whack)
    â€˜Peritonitis.’ (Whack) The headmaster supplied the information along with another stroke.
    â€˜That’s it, sir. That’s what he’s got. I reckon,’ (Whack) ‘they ought to call in the helicopter from the airbase.’ (Whack)
    â€˜I’m sure the coxswain will take heed of your advice, Matthews.’ (Whack)
    The headmaster turned away, but the boy had not finished even if the caning was done. He stood up, his eyes shining, the ready smile still on his mouth. ‘Oh, he’s a great coxswain, Mr Macready. Eighty-seven lives he’s saved in the eleven years since he’s been coxswain. It’s all up on a board in the boathouse, sir …’
    â€˜Yes, yes, that will be all, Matthews. Return to your class.’
    Only now, in the face of the headmaster’s lack of interest in the town’s lifeboat activities, did the boy’s expression alter. Tim could not understand how anyone, particularly the headmaster who was always exhorting his pupils to take a lively interest in whatever was going on around them, could not be as enthusiastic as he was about the lifeboat.
    The headmaster sighed as the door closed behind Matthews. ‘Doesn’t anything have an effect on that boy?’ he murmured.
    The school’s secretary, typing in her corner, glanced at him, pursed her lips and said nothing but pounded the keys even harder. Mrs Hibbett did not agree with punishing young Matthews. She thought the boy showed spirit.
    The next time Matthews stood in front of Mr Edwards, the headmaster said, ‘Well, boy, so it’s happened again, has it?’
    â€˜Yes, sir. Do you know, sir, they were a crew member short. If only I’d been older perhaps they’d have let me go.’
    Mr Edwards raised his eyebrows and murmured, ‘Heaven forbid!’ Clearing his throat he added, ‘Well Matthews, caning seems to have no effect. I—er—understand you particularly dislike the writing of essays. Is that correct?’
    The boy grimaced. ‘ Yes, sir.’
    â€˜Well, then. I suggest you remain in detention after school this evening and write me out a full account of the launch of the lifeboat and why you feel the crew have especial need of your presence every time a launch takes place.’ The sarcasm was lost on Tim. His eyes were shining. ‘Yes, sir.’
    As the door of his study closed behind a jubilant Matthews, Mr Edwards remarked to his secretary, ‘Mrs Hibbett, I think I have just been outmanoeuvred.’
    She said nothing but smiled down at her typewriter.
    The essay had been a brilliant piece of prose from the fourteen-year-old boy and was passed amongst the staff as an example of what Matthews was capable of achieving.
    â€˜If only they put a question in the G.C.E O-level paper about lifeboats,’ remarked his English teacher wryly, ‘he’ll get a distinction!’
    Throughout his boyhood Tim had always been welcome at the Macready home. Mary Macready had been like a mother to him. She had never fussed over him—she hadn’t been that sort of woman, but he had loved her for her serenity, her smile, her warmth.
    Her sudden death had left Tim Matthews every bit as desolate as her husband and daughter.
    They had grown up together—Tim and Julie Macready. They had gone to Saltershaven Grammar School, though Julie, a year older than Tim, had been in the form above him all the way through the school.
    In their early teens they had gone sailing together, roller-skating, ten-pin bowling, and played tennis. And they could not count the number of times they had