Protected: Heartless and Thoughtless Indeed

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Heartless and Thoughtless Indeed

This edited version of a speech given this week by Tony Fitzgerald at a book launch goes a long way to explaining why people have given up on politicians and politics in Australia and why heartless scum like our current PM still retain power-

The corruption of democracy
June 29, 2004

Spite and deception dominate the political landscape and we are all the worse for it, says Tony Fitzgerald.

Democracy in our tradition assumes that a broad range of political activity is controlled only by conventions of proper conduct. Especially because individual rights are not constitutionally guaranteed in this country, justice, equality and other fundamental community values in Australia are constantly vulnerable to the disregard of those conventions.

Since the sacking of the Whitlam government in 1975, the major political parties seem to have largely abandoned the ethics of government. A spiteful, divisive contest now dominates the national conversation, and democracy struggles incessantly with populism. Mainstream political parties routinely shirk their duty of maintaining democracy in Australia.

This is nowhere more obvious than in what passes for political debate, in which it is regarded as not only legitimate but clever to mislead. Although effective democracy depends on the participation of informed citizens, modern political discourse is corrupted by pervasive deception.

It is a measure of the deep cynicism in our party political system that many of the political class deride those who support the evolution of Australia as a fair, tolerant, compassionate society and a good world citizen as an un-Australian, “bleeding-heart” elite, and that the current Government inaccurately describes itself as conservative and liberal. It is neither. It exhibits a radical disdain for both liberal thought and fundamental institutions and conventions. No institution is beyond stacking and no convention restrains the blatant advancement of ideology.

The tit-for-tat attitude each side adopts means that the position will probably change little when the Opposition gains power at some future time. A decline in standards will continue if we permit it.

When leaders fail to set and follow ethical standards, public trust is damaged, community expectations diminish and social divisions expand.Without ethical leadership, those of us who are comfortably insulated from the harsh realities of violence, disability, poverty and discrimination seem to have experienced a collective failure of imagination. Relentless change and perceptions of external threat make conformity and order attractive and incremental erosions of freedom tolerable to those who benefit from the status quo and are apprehensive of others who are different and therefore easily misunderstood.

Mainstream Australians remain unreconciled with indigenous Australians and largely ignore their just claims. Without any coherent justification, we are participating in a war in a distant country in which more than half the population are children, some of whom, inevitably, are being killed. In our own country, many live in poverty, children are hungry and homeless and other severely traumatised children are in detention in flagrant breach of the Convention on the Rights of the Child simply because they were brought here by their parents seeking a better life.

There are, according to recent figures, 162 children in immigration detention in mainland Australia and on Nauru and Christmas Island.

The recently published report by the National Inquiry into Children in Immigration Detention (A Last Resort) confirms what those of us who have sustained contact with some of the children now released have known for some time, namely that “the traumatic nature of the detention experience has outstripped any previous trauma that the children have had”.

It observed that “children in detention exhibited such symptoms as bed-wetting, sleepwalking and night terrors. At the severe end of the spectrum, some children became mute, refused to eat and drink, made suicide attempts and began to self-harm, such as by cutting themselves”.

With respect to some children, the inquiry found that the Immigration Department “failed to implement the clear – and in some cases repeated – recommendations of state agencies and mental health experts that they be urgently transferred out of detention centres with their parents. This amounted to cruel, inhuman and degrading treatment.”

Other measures which I would describe as inhumane and dehumanising include giving children (and their parents) a number which they must wear at all times and by which they are known and called; and not allowing parents to take any photos of their children – so babies born in detention have no photos recording their development, something most parents take for granted.

Politicians mesmerised by power seem to be unconcerned that, when leaders fail to set and follow ethical standards, public trust is damaged, community expectations diminish and social divisions expand.

However, these matters are important to the rest of us. We are a community, not merely a collection of self-interested individuals. Justice, integrity and trust in fundamental institutions are essential social assets, and social capital is as important as economic prosperity.

In order to perform our democratic function, we need, and are entitled to, the truth. Nothing is more important to the functioning of democracy than informed discussion and debate. Yet a universal aim of the power-hungry is to stifle dissent. Most of us are easily silenced, through a sense of futility if not personal concern.

That a society which calls itself civilised continues to countenance the prolonged and indeterminate detention of children in conditions closely resembling those of a high-security prison, shocks me profoundly. That this society is Australia saddens and angers me more than I can say.

This is an edited version of Queen’s counsel Tony Fitzgerald’s written speech for the Sydney launch of journalist Margo Kingston’s book Not Happy, John – Defending our Democracy (Penguin, 2004).

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Protected: Distortions and Lies

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Distortions and Lies

Saw this article in today’s paper. Wilkie is now standing for the Prime Minister’s seat of Bennelong. It would be an extreme irony if he were to beat John Howard and drive him out of Parliament. *Sigh* Unfortunately only a pipe dream, there are too many well upholstered and overly comfortable, inward looking and parochial voters in his safe North Shore seat for this to happen. I admire Wilkie as an employee of an intelligence agency standing up and telling the truth to counter all the lies and distortions spread by the government and then resigning. It takes a fair bit of courage to stand up to the bully boys in our Government –

Distortion became a weapon of destruction
By Robert Manne
June 28, 2004

Last year Black Inc, the publisher for which I edit a political series, commissioned the former Australian intelligence officer Andrew Wilkie to write a book explaining why he had resigned his post on the eve of the invasion of Iraq. Last week Wilkie’s book, Axis of Deceit, appeared. So far as I am aware Wilkie is the first intelligence eyewitness from any of the invading powers to offer an explanation of how false assessment led their country into an unnecessary, unlawful and unjust war.

In March last year, the US, Britain and Australia invaded Iraq on the basis of two closely connected claims. Iraq was said to possess a vast stockpile of biological and chemical weapons and to be close to producing a nuclear bomb. It was also said to have developed a working relationship with al-Qaeda, to which it was likely to pass on weapons of mass destruction for the purpose of a devastating terrorist attack on the US.

Almost everyone now acknowledges that both claims were false. Nothing seems more important than to explain the genesis of this fradulent case.

Wilkie’s explanation goes like this: he had access to most Western intelligence assessments on Iraq. He and some colleagues concluded that Iraq’s WMD program was “disjointed”, “limited” and “contained”. They also already knew that there existed no solid intelligence linking al-Qaeda with Iraq.

Despite this, what Wilkie witnessed was the systematic distortion by the pro-war political leaders of the ambiguous intelligence on Iraq they received.

Wilkie provides a complex analysis of how this distortion took place. The most common technique was the excision by political leaders of the crucial qualifying comments in the intelligence they used. An assessment might mention the existence of “unconfirmed reports” about an Iraqi chemical weapons plant, or speculate that a meeting between an Iraqi official and an al-Qaeda leader “could have” taken place. By the removal of the qualifiers, speculations were transformed into solid facts. “Never did I see such a string of unqualified and strong judgements as was contained in the official case for war,” Wilkie argues.

Although the weight of Wilkie’s analysis falls on the deliberate distortions of the pro-war politicians, he is not uncritical of the quality of some of the American and British intelligence assessments which reached Australian eyes. Intelligence from Iraqi exiles now known to be deliberate disinformation would not, in normal circumstances, have survived conventional vetting procedures. Nevertheless it circulated freely. Huge gaps in knowledge – most importantly about the pre-1991 “unaccounted for” weapons materials and ignorance about what had transpired following the withdrawal of the UN inspectors in 1998 – were filled by the intelligence agencies with heroic guesses pretending to be facts.

Most alarming in the Wilkie book is his analysis of the warped relationship that developed between the Howard Government and the intelligence agencies in the build-up to the war. By his account, the agencies became increasingly sensitive to the political requirements of the Government, influenced both by what it wished to hear and what it did not want to know.

The Australian intelligence agencies gilded the lily more than once. Wilkie was present when Australian officers subtlely misled the then leader of the opposition, Simon Crean, in a confidential WMD briefing everyone attending knew to be “unbalanced” and less than frank.

On the basis of the alternative “need not to know” principle, intelligence potentially undermining the case for war was frequently diluted or even lost. In 2002 Wilkie knew that the case about Iraqi uranium purchases from Africa had been discredited, nevertheless precisely this information made an appearance in John Howard’s critical prewar speech of February 4 last year.

For his whistleblowing Wilkie was not forgiven. The Government tried to discredit him by questioning his Iraqi expertise. Then it claimed him to be psychologically unstable. Finally, by leaking a top secret Office of National Assessments (ONA) report he had written on Iraq to the right-wing journalist Andrew Bolt, it tried to suggest Wilkie’s judgement was hopelessly unsound.

This last tactic almost came unstuck. Leaking top secret intelligence is a serious criminal offence. Because Wilkie still has friends in Government, in Axis of Deceit he is able to reveal that three days before Bolt’s article appeared, his Iraq assessment was obtained from the ONA by the office of the Foreign Minister, Alexander Downer.

Last week it was announced that for lack of “admissible evidence”, the Federal Police investigation into the leak had quietly been dropped. I always assumed the investigation would peter out like this. In Howard’s Australia, while we may be strong on flagpoles, we are rather weak on spine.

Robert Manne is professor of politics at La Trobe University

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Protected: A Friendship Dissected – Chapter 17 – A Costly Failure – Part 2

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A Friendship Dissected – Chapter 17 – A Costly Failure – Part 2

Title:A Friendship Dissected – Chapter 17 – A Costly Failure – Part 2 Characters: Stephen, Jack, Killick, Amos Jacob Rating: NC-17 Spoilers for The Wine-Dark Sea Disclaimer: Characters borrowed from Patrick O’Brian & his heirs on a non-profit basis A Friendship Dissected Chapter 17 – A Costly Failure – Part 2 The soup was still hot and the rest of the meal, not the disaster predicted by Killick and as Stephen dabbed at a jam stain on his jacket as he sipped his coffee, he asked, “Jack when will you be having the service for Plaice?” “I was hoping this afternoon but as it is a make and mend day today, it will be better left off till tomorrow morning.” Stephen nodded and looked down, “I try to tell myself to be professional about this, but these doubts I have still nag at me. But no you don’t want to hear my pointless maundering and speculation. It won’t bring Plaice back.” “Shall I tell you something else Stephen that I remember from that time?” “If you wish to tell me, yes of course.” “It was about Sam. How proud of him I was. I only saw a little of him you understand. I think you got to spend a lot more time with him, but what I saw, it made me proud Stephen. I’d been a bit disappointed when I first met him to find that the sea didn’t appeal and that he wanted to be a priest, but when I saw how respected he was and how far he had progressed, it made my heart swell. That late supper I had with him made up for my disappointment when I finally got to the Surprise and I found that you were not on board. My heart sunk literally, I felt empty inside. We’d been toiling to get in to shore for days to warn you of Dutourd’s escape and when you weren’t aboard I was frightened for you. If anything had happened to you then it would have been the end of me. I was down so low physically, with the wounds and sheer exhaustion. Thank god Sam came when he did with your message that you were escaping across the mountains to Chile and your promise to me that you would join me on the last day of the next month in Valparaiso. I held onto that promise with such intensity, I couldn’t bear for you to be alone on shore with people searching for you or wanting to harm you and I know you always try to keep your promises.” “Yes it was a pleasant time we had in Lima. The little girls, Sarah and Emily will always remember their christenings in the cathedral I’m sure.” Stephen smiled at the memory of the two excited little girls, stiff with pride in their white christening dresses and their broad blue Marial sashes stepping into the coach after attending High Mass in the Lima Cathedral presided over by the archbishop. “Sam was very kind to them showing them some of the sights of Lima and we had a marvellous dinner with him in his rooms. There they found their voices and their sense of humour, so much so that by the end of the meal and a little too much wine, I had to set them loose in the cloister to work off a little of their animal spirits.” Stephen leant back in his chair and laughed and when Jack looked at him curiously, he explained, “The sharp little creatures noticed straight away an uncanny resemblance between Sam’s servant, Hipolito and Killick. The same desire to control his master’s every moment, the same nagging and shrewishness and put upon air he invariably adopts when things do not go according to his conception of the proper way of things. It amused them immensely.” “Really,” Jack smiled as he began and was about to continue when he looked up into Killick’s face glaring at him from the doorway, “that’s … very interesting Stephen, imagine that.” “I’ve come to clear the table sir, if you are both quite finished,” Killick glared at Stephen as well, obviously having heard the last comment. “No, we are quite finished. Come Stephen, let’s sit over on the locker bench, out of Killick’s way.” They both got up from the table and retreated from Killick’s wrath. “Sam told me something of your attempts, your almost successful attempts at bringing off the rebellion, revolution, whatever you want to call it. It was such a pity that Dutourd cruelled it for you. I remember telling dear old Hen on the Berenice of how disappointed you were and how you took it to heart and admitting to him, despite some of the grand prizes we snapped up that overall that voyage was a very costly failure.” “In the sense that I did not achieve what I was sent out to do, no, it was not a success, but then it at least laid the groundwork for our later success and provided a means for us to come back and try our hand again, this time in Chile. No I would not say that it was a total failure. There were some promising news at least of Chile and the mood there. Though I do regret all the good friends we lost on that long voyage around the world and back and the time away from Diana. Maybe I could have saved her considerable heartache if I’d been there for her when Brigid’s problems were first noticed, make her see things more clearly. I also regret the loss of Nathaniel’s friendship. We parted on good terms but he wasn’t the same man that I knew. It is surprising how material wealth affects some people. He had changed from an amiable young man whose source of happiness was his joy in nature and his young wife and yet the acquiring of material wealth had changed him into a bore where his only conversation seemed to be about investment options for his newly acquired riches. He admitted to me that he had even lost his love of birds. I only hope that the last was just merely the effect of the ill-advised medicines he took on his poor worried and depressed spirits.” Stephen stretched and yawned. Jack smiled at him, “Why don’t you go to your cot and sleep a little. You were up and busy far earlier than usual. I want you fresh and awake this evening for our music.” “Yes I think I will. Please wake me in two hours, if I’m still sleeping. I promised to do my rounds with Amos early this evening.” Stephen wandered off into the sleeping cabin. Jack stood up and stretched and walked back to his desk, looking down at his paperwork and decided it would keep for another day and went back up on deck. He greeted the officers on duty and automatically noted the wind, the sky and clouds and the swell and was satisfied with their progress. He made a few suggestions for some changes to the sails and recommenced his usual pacing on the quarterdeck, thinking back to that time in the Pacific and off the South American Pacific coast. ‘I didn’t realise what a close run thing it was. We had drifted so far apart and our friendship really was under threat before then due to our mutual head butting but I am so glad we were given those warm, languid days and nights. Days I could make things right with Stephen, nights I could win him back to me. We were back to sharing the music and I sensed a lightening of his mood along with the lifting of mine as he spent more and more time with me in the cabin, but I was unsure, uncertain how to proceed. How do you woo back such a wild and mercurial creature as Stephen, after you’ve hurt him? I knew then, after Moahu, after my belligerence and anger had cooled that he had felt hurt and betrayed when I had refused him permission for Padeen to come aboard. I had known it all along, but up till then out of anger with him refused to recognise it and preferred to blame him for deceiving me. Those nights before we had come back together again, were nights of frustration. I’d lie in my cot thinking about him, wanting him so badly. Did I dream of Sophie at all? No, Stephen was the only one who roused me, the only one in my dreams full of sex and pleasure and waking to frustration to find him not there, my body aching for the feel of him again, the taste of him and his passion. Oh yes, I wanted to see and hear his wild passionate responses to our lovemaking. When I used to dream of Sophie it was an idealised version of her, nothing like the real Sophie in bed, but my dreams of Stephen, they were based on reality and left me even more desperate to have him back in my cot.’ ‘And he made it worse for me, didn’t he? He had no shame and so in the heat of the day he would lie naked in his skiff and I would stand there looking down at him, looking at his body, wanting to touch him, wanting to kiss him. He knew, he knew. I caught him looking back at me; the same heat that was in me was in him. I could see it but I had to make the first move. I had to approach him, but how? Stephen was bending over the side of his skiff reaching for some creature that interested him and made an ill-considered move. He tumbled in and he came up to the surface, attempting to catch hold of the side of the boat and sank again. I kicked my boots off and ripped my shirt off and dived over the side and dove down, down and grabbed Stephen round the waist and brought him to the surface, boosting him up and into the skiff. I slid in after him and hauled Stephen into my lap. He was coughing and spluttering and gasping for air and retching seawater. I held him, rubbing his back, his shoulders and when his breathing eased held him close to me whispering, “It’s all right Stephen, you’re all right. Relax now, breathe easy.” Bonden was hauling in the skiff to the side of the boat and lowered a bosun’s chair. I lifted Stephen into it and called, “Bonden haul away now, gently now. Lift him gently. Carry him down to the cabin. Put him in my cot.” I clambered up the side and followed them down to the cabin. Killick was there already with a towel. I took it from him, “Go along now Killick, Bonden. I’ll look after the Doctor.” “Shouldn’t we get Mr Martin to come and take a look sir?” Bonden suggested. “No, he’s fine. He’s just swallowed a bit too much seawater. I’ll tend to him. Thank you, but get back to your duties. I’ll handle this.” They obeyed and I turned back to Stephen. I bent down and gently dried his face and then I kissed him and moved the towel down further rubbing his neck, his shoulders, his chest, bending down to kiss and suck his nipples. He didn’t stop me, his eyes were wide and he stared at me, his breath catching a little. I lifted one arm and dried it, moving the towel from his shoulder to his hands, kissing his shoulder, licking down to his elbow and nibbling and kissing the inside of his elbow and sliding my tongue down the inside of his arm to his hand and kissing the palm of his hand, turning it and kissing his hand, licking and sucking his fingers. He smiled now, a slow, lazy smile and stretched his body, staring at me and licking his lips. I swept the length of his body with my hand from his hip to his shoulder and back down again. He lifted his hips and grabbed my hand and placed it on his cock and he started rubbing himself up against it. Nothing was said, he continued to stare at me, his tongue licking his lips, his breath quickening. I felt his cock stiffening. Mine was too. He reached up and pulled me down and kissed me, “Suck me Jack, suck me hard, make me come. Do it now.” He demanded. There was no thought on my part and without a word I obeyed him. I lifted his cock and started to squeeze it a little, looking at him, his eyes widened and he gasped. Then, “Jack I said suck me, do it now.” I buried my face in him sucking him hard and fast into my mouth. He cried out and muffled it quickly with his hand, pushing himself up, seeking to plunge down my throat. I relaxed my muscles and swallowed him and then he came, his hips jerking and thrusting. He fell back, relaxed, his cock softening and it slipped from my mouth. I looked at him and he smiled and motioned to me to come and stand near his head. He turned and quickly undid my breeches, pulling them and my drawers down, grabbing my cock and rubbing and squeezing and then pulled me close to his mouth. His tongue snaked out and he lapped at my cock and then nibbled around the head of my cock. My cock was jerking in his hand and he stopped and licked the length of it and withdrew. “Stephen for god’s sake, please, don’t, oh god, please suck me, hold me. I need …” “Shhh! My love, I shall ease you.” He struck then, swiftly and sucked and sucked me, swallowing me. I felt his throat muscles massaging me, milking me and I was on fire, I tried to push forward but he held me, I felt his lips at the base of my cock and the whole length of me massaged by his mouth and throat. He was breathing loudly through his nose as he controlled his throat muscles and they closed and relaxed around the head of my cock and I came hard and cried out, “Oh sweet Jesus!” as I came, slumping, his hands holding me up. He withdrew, his lips pressing hard around my cock squeezing the last drops of cum from me. He looked up at me, bit his lower lip and smiled, “Jack did it require me to nearly drown to get you to take the initiative?” “You vile creature, you could have taken the initiative, you know. You could have come to my cot, weeks ago. Instead you leave me to burn. Lounging around the ship, letting me see you naked, taunting me with your body.” I replied and bent down and kissed him till he was breathless. I lifted and turned him so I could climb in beside him in my cot. He settled his body against mine, rubbing himself against me like an overgrown cat. “Well perhaps this afternoon’s little accident means I will have to take more swimming lessons? It seems I’ve forgotten them all. You will have to take me well in hand, make sure I relearn those lessons. Don’t you agree?” He almost purred his satisfaction as he licked and nibbled at my ear or what was left of that ear. I held him close and began to rub his back and down to his bottom, massaging him there. One finger separating and drawing down the cleft and back up to that puckered band of muscle and I pushed it in, moving it in and out, feeling him clamp down on my finger. He lifted his leg over mine and he pulled my arm back around and sucked on my fingers till they were wet with saliva and taking my hand, brought it back to where it had been before and I began again the in and out movement. His body began to rock back against me, wanting my fingers to pierce him deeper and then they brushed that place where he took his pleasure and I continued brushing there with the tips of my fingers. His mouth was open and he was gasping, moaning as I felt his cock stiffen against mine. I kissed him and continued the slow easy massage, waiting for him, waiting for him to ask. I whispered to him, “Stephen what do you want? You have to tell me? What do you want?” I brushed him there again wringing another gasp from him and kissing him. He was now beyond speech, his face a mask of passion, incoherent, his eyes unseeing rocking against me, on heat and wild with it. “Tell me Stephen, tell me what you want.” “Fuck me, fuck me Jack. Please….unhh…please…” he gasped and I withdrew my fingers. “Shhh! I’m just turning you round” I lifted and turned him so his bottom was against me. He started squirming trying to angle himself to have my cock inside him. I held his hips firmly, “Stop moving Stephen. Let me do it.” He stilled, he was breathing through his mouth, his eyes were wide and staring, his body was shivering with need, need for me. I pushed one leg forward and made him bend it to open the cleft wide and I positioned myself, holding back a little. He moaned again. I kissed his shoulder and shushed him. The tip of my cock pierced him and I felt him grab hold of it, the ring of muscle dilating and contracting massaging me, trying to draw me into him. I stayed still, made him work for it. I pushed in a little further and stopped and felt his muscles clamp onto me tight, felt him try to suck me further inside him, felt him try to push back. I held him firmly. He would wait for his pleasure, as he had made me wait. I took his cock in my other hand squeezing gently and then touching him with ghost touches, feather light teasing touches. I pinched his nipples until they were red and stiff and then returned to his cock and began a firm massage of his cock, holding him firmly with my leg hooked over his upper thighs, immobilising him. My other hand snaked down and held his balls, rolling them gently. He groaned and he threw his head back against my shoulder. I could see his whole body taut with pleasure, with need, stretched out on my body, vibrating, just on the edge, waiting, waiting for the fuck, waiting for my cock to push him over the edge. I plundered his mouth, kissing and biting his lips and brought my hand from his balls to hold his hips and then I thrust into him, touching that gland and stopping. It was difficult now, holding it, but I wanted him to wait. I pulled back and he sobbed his need for me. That is what broke the spell and I began to thrust in earnest, plunging into that sweet arse and feeling his eager jerking movements against me and then my hand and his stomach were coated with his cum spurting from him, triggering me and I felt my whole body shudder with ecstasy as I came, feeling his muscles still quivering around me the pleasure now attenuated. I collapsed against him, exhausted, replete, my whole body overloaded with sensation, as was he, still sobbing and shaking and whispering my name. He quieted and relaxed, my cock slipping from him and I pulled him close and tenderly kissed him, kissed his mouth, his cheeks, his chin, his forehead, his eyelids and buried my face in his neck, kissing and lapping him with my tongue, slow easy strokes. He sighed and nestled closer to me and slept, falling quickly so quickly into his sleep, there was no time to tell him how much I loved him. I kissed the nape of his neck, the soft skin between his shoulder and neck and joined him in sleep soon after. Jack all this time had been standing still at the starboard rail, staring out to sea and his reawakening awareness of the present came from the feeling of tension he felt below. ‘Oh no! God this is not the place to think about Stephen and sex. How am I going to get back to the cabin without anyone noticing my prick is standing to attention? My hat, I’ll take it off, put it in front of me. Damn why do they have to make these breeches so tight, you can see everything going on down there.’ Jack turned to Mr Whewell and said, “I’ll be going down to the cabin. Good day to you Mr Whewell.” “And to you sir,” Whewell looked curiously after him as he followed the Admiral’s awkward movements as he seemed to be walking with a very stiff gait and holding his hat in his hand in front of him, even when he was going down the few stairs to the deck to proceed to the companionway. “Perhaps he has a touch of the gout or arthritis, he seems to be moving extraordinarily stiff.” Jack sighed with relief as he reached the cabin. He looked at the sleeping cabin door and considered going in there and demanding Stephen give him some relief. ‘It was all his fault anyway making me think about … Well he didn’t ask me to specifically think about that.’ Jack went in anyway and stood by his cot, looking down at Stephen sleeping peacefully. ‘No, I wont wake him. I’ll just lie in my cot for a while and ease the stiffness myself. He bent to remove his shoes and dropped his breeches and got into his cot and closed his eyes and smiled. ‘Oh yes those memories would certainly relieve my current stiffness.’ He began to rub himself and thought of those swimming lessons. He kissed Stephen and caressed his cheek, “Stephen wake up my dear.” Stephen screwed up his face and stretched and eventually opened his eyes. “Stephen you did tell me to wake you in two hours…” Jack began. Stephen smiled and forestalled his line of defence by kissing his hand, “Thank you my dear and what have you been doing while I slept?” Jack went bright red, “Well thinking about this and that.” “This and that may not have involved sex did it?” “Sort of …well…umm…well, yes it did and damned embarrassing it was too. It’s all your fault.” Jack blustered. “I’m sorry Jack but when was I responsible for your thoughts?” “No it was the memories of that time in the Pacific that you were…well … not totally responsible. I was there too.” Stephen sat up and rolled out of his hammock and sat on his sea chest to put on his socks. “Well which particular memories and what was so embarrassing about them in the present?” “It was the first time we made love, you know after you had that ducking from the skiff. You remember.” Stephen smiled, “Yes I should imagine the memory was somewhat stimulating.” “Well I remembered it or rather was stimulated by it in the wrong place, on the quarterdeck. I had to use my hat to camouflage it. God it was good to get down here and relieve the pressure.” Stephen laughed and looked up at Jack as he pulled on his boot, “Was there anything else?” “Just now I was lying in my cot and I was thinking about the swimming lessons or rather the first swimming lesson we had.” “Yes I remember those all too well.” Stephen shook his head. “Well Stephen I was very anxious you know after our disagreement, wanting to make it up with you, get back to what we had before it happened. I burned for you and it so relieved my mind that you still wanted me and well, yes I wanted to claim you. You were and are mine.” “And obviously parts other than your mind were relieved as well I gather,” Stephen laughed as he leaned in to kiss Jack. “Try and think of something in a non-sexual vein about you and me at that time before I come back from my rounds. Surely there was something else about me or about you at that time that stood out in your mind. I am worried about you Jack. Perhaps there is an unrecognised disease of middle-aged captains, newly promoted to Admirals that induces a high level, nay an almost uncontrollable level of sexual desire and obsession. I may be able to write a paper on it and present it at the Royal College of Physicians or maybe the Royal Society. But first I must discover the cause, not merely describe the aetiology of the disease. Is it due to performance anxiety, their fears about their ability to dominate and command fellows who had only recently been their peers? Or the effect of too much paperwork on their constitution, the tedium so extreme that the patient seeks immediate and constant sexual stimulation to relieve it. ” “If there is such a disease, it probably is exacerbated by them having particular friends who love to tease and provoke them.” Jack retorted. “I shall see you later Jack.” Jack followed Stephen out into the cabin and walked over to one of the lockers to search for the piece they were to play that night. He still hadn’t made a final decision on the music they would play at Buenos Aires. Though the music they shared was mostly a private affair, something deeply personal between them, on this occasion Jack felt that they should actually perform together in front of others. It was not pride in his musical abilities, rather a desire in some way to present himself and Stephen to the captains in the squadron in a different light than his formal position as their commander. There was another motive as well. He wanted no questioning about Stephen’s place by his side, wanting them to see Stephen and himself working together as a team, to see the level of understanding and harmony that existed between them. No one would question Stephen’s presence at a planning session or look down or dismiss him as the Admiral’s… what? Jack stopped and thought about it for a little while. In the past there were captains who resented Stephen’s presence at such gatherings, seeing his presence as unnecessary and merely due to his friendship with Jack. At some social gatherings too, some who were over zealous in their esteem of their own rank resented Stephen’s presence at the table. Did any of them suspect? Did any one of them know the true depth and quality of our relationship? ‘Dear old Heneage I think suspects. Stephen has told me that there has been some gossip about us, some questioning but never any direct accusations. I will not have Stephen insulted; he’s a Captain just like them. He just earned his rank in a different way and a damned more difficult and painful way than some of them who only achieved it due to their family’s influence.’ Jack smiled when he found the piece he was looking for and sat down at his desk. It was a piece for two violins but could be adapted for a violin and cello. He started working on transcribing and writing the modified piece, but stopped when he thought of Stephen again and he visualised him sitting there with his cello between his legs, concentrating on a particularly difficult piece, working at it determinedly to bring it off, execute it with his own individual touch. ‘Individual and special to him and yet with an ear to my playing so that it blends perfectly with it, so that in the end the music seems to pass from cello to violin and back again effortlessly. It wasn’t effortless though, was it? The growth of our understanding of each other, to the very deepest level hasn’t been easy, still isn’t but like the way he works at the music, Stephen works on me doesn’t he? Always striving to reach me, touch me, know me. Am I that complex, difficult to read? I never thought so, or maybe he sees things in me that I do not. Sometimes his probing is irritating and uncomfortable but do I resent him for it? Maybe, sometimes but isn’t it flattering to have the almost undivided attention of your lover? Yes it is. I’d miss it, if I didn’t feel him testing me everyday. My only competition for his attention is his love of birds and beasts and that only when he has the opportunity to run around on shore.’ Jack smiled again, “I have it,” he said out loud. ‘Yes, how could I have forgotten, I know that that was the most important thing I’d felt about Stephen at that time. It was the realisation of how empty I would be without him by my side. I always had felt it but had always put what I felt, loneliness, a general vague discontent, lack of appetite and inability to enjoy myself when Stephen was absent from the ship, down to worry for his physical safety or fear of him being emotionally hurt. It came home to me so clearly that day in Callao, even in my poor physical condition. I loved being back on the Surprise, she was my home but on being told by Tom that Stephen wasn’t there, he was out naturalising in the mountains that sense of emptiness engulfed me. I saw the Surprise and Stephen together as my home. The Surprise was my physical shelter, but Stephen was the one who made it a home for me. With him not there I felt this aching inside, it was the ache of emptiness, missing his warmth, his love and care for me. Yes that was more important than anything we may share in our cot.’ He bent his head to continue transcribing the piece and was still at it when Killick came in with the lamps, followed soon after by Stephen. “Sirs the men have come across a great swarm of anchovies. They’re hauling them in their nets at this very moment. Would you like some hot for your supper sirs?” Jack rubbed his hands together, “Yes Killick, most certainly. God when was the last time I ate fresh anchovies hot off the pan? Absolutely delicious. Yes, I recall, it was on the way into Callao to rescue you Stephen or at least recapture Dutourd. Old Joe Plaice he was an absolute artist at casting a net …” Jack’s face fell, “I’m sorry.” “No you was right sir. None better. He pulled up net after net of the little buggers sir. We stuffed ourselves that day. Good thing too, seeing what followed. That wind gall and all and that blasted wind keeping us off shore for days, a thirsting and a starving. Joe nearly lost the number of his mess then. Thankee Doctor. You did your best for old Joe. He was a tough old bugger but his number was up, I guess.’ Killick nodded his head thinking back on his messmate and then looked up and said, “Well you’ll want the spirit stove in here, so you can cook and eat as you go, sirs.” “Yes arrange that please Killick.” Stephen sat back considering. “Jack, Killick seems to be strangely accepting of Plaice’s passing? This stoicism and attitude of acceptance in the face of death or certain death among the men, it puzzles me. I have seen it before. After our poor Surprise’s rudder dropped off into the ocean leaving us adrift and helpless and yet the men were calm, I would almost say cheerful, unconcerned with our plight and even Killick took it quite well. What is the explanation for this attitude or state of mind?” “Well I can easily explain the last. It was a matter of the bad luck being removed from the ship.” “How? I cannot see how you can say that. We were certainly in a bad way. How was this supposed bad luck lifted may I ask?” “Oh well you remember the man, the Knipperdolling, Isaac Rame who was hit by lightening and died.” “Yes, most unfortunate and terrible bad luck for him I should think.” “Well the men knew that Vidal and the other Knipperdollings had helped Dutourd escape and they felt that Dutourd had informed on you, putting your life in danger. Quite right too, I might add. The men thought that though the Knipperdollings had kindly intentions, their actions amounted to treachery and betrayal of you and so brought down a curse, the curse of bad luck down on the whole of the ship. With the death of Rame they felt some sort of divine retribution had been enforced, cancelling out all the bad luck and so they could look forward knowing things could only get better.” “Oh I see, though based on superstition and ignorance, their attitude does seem to have a strange logic about it. It still does not explain Killick’s current equanimity?” “Mixture really. Doesn’t want you to feel bad for one thing. He doesn’t blame you and I suppose he is a fatalist like many seamen. They believe that there is a particular way and time that you’re intended to leave this world and this just happened to be his time. They perceived Plaice as being extremely lucky to have been treated and saved by you that first time, perhaps asking for a second miracle would be too much like tempting fate.” “I see. It is an interesting way of dealing with death and yes a most useful attitude to adopt on a frail craft floating in the vastness and continually at the mercy of the savage sea. It would save many from desponding.” “And didn’t I tell you then and I will repeat it now Stephen. You will not despond; you will never despond when you’re with me. I can at least promise you that on the flagship, you will always have an ample portion of plum duff. While I’m thinking about it I might take this occasion also to remind you, of your manner when speaking of the flagship. As I said then please do not speak facetiously of the barky. How could you describe her appearance as looking like Bridie Colman’s laundry day? You will restrict your descriptions to words like ‘superb’ or ‘truly excellent’ or ‘the best you have ever seen’. Please do not attempt anything more specific.” “Yes Jack,” Stephen answered meekly. Killick had set the table and had the spirit stove set up with his pan and Ayrton brought in a large bucket with the anchovies swimming in seawater. Killick wiped the pan with slush and then fried the anchovies quickly, tipping them onto Jack’s and Stephen’s plates as fast as he could cook them and adding more to the pan. Jack urged Killick to have some as he cooked and they had a very amiable supper together. With such a meal it was not possible to stand on rank and all happily ate the fish, and shared the wine. Jack and Stephen loosened their waistbands and sat back thanking Killick for the meal, while he took away the stove, plates and utensils. “Delicious, delicious. It’s been too long since I’ve had such a meal. I remember eating such delicious fish cooked over an open fire on the beach at Catalunya with friends, before the war. We used to have lots of picnics like that, casual informal meals. I enjoy them so much more than these formal dinners that the English seem to prefer.” “Well perhaps when we go on your naturalising expeditions we can camp out and have picnics on the beach. Would you like that?” “Of course I would Jack, thank you. Now tell me did you manage to think about anything other than having sex with me while I was below?” “Yes, I did. I remembered how I felt when I came back to the Surprise in Callao and found you not there. I realised that it wasn’t the Surprise that was my home; it would only be my home if you were there. I felt empty and strangely alone, realising for the first time that I could only be happy if I have you on board with me. I know, I know, hardly an earth shattering revelation but up till then I don’t think I understood the feelings I had whenever you were away from the ship. I’d always associated it with fear for you, that you were in danger of some sort, but in this case as far as I knew you were not, you just weren’t with me and all I could think of was that the Surprise wasn’t home unless you were on her with me. Just like when we are on land, I always feel so much better when you are staying with us. I just know I need you with me, no matter that we share a cot or not.” “Thank you Jack, that is how I feel of course.” “Stephen, if Sophie does decide to come and join the squadron. Will you stay? Please. We won’t be able to be as we are now. I can see that and it is maybe unfair to expect you to stay, but I want you to stay. Will you?” “Where should I go Jack? You are right. You are my home. I don’t want to leave my home and if Sophie comes out, well Jack, I shall miss our closeness, but yes I will stay. My Bridie will be here, I will have other things and people to worry about and we will always have the music to play together. Shall we play, my love?” “With all my heart, my dear.” Jack kissed Stephen’s cheek. Go to Chapter 18

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A Friendship Dissected – Chapter 17 –A Costly Failure – Part 1

Title: A Friendship Dissected – Chapter 17 –A Costly Failure – Part 1
Characters: Stephen, Jack, Killick, Amos Jacob
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers for The Wine-Dark Sea
Disclaimer: Characters borrowed from Patrick O’Brian & his heirs on a non-profit basis

A Friendship Dissected

Chapter 17 –A Costly Failure – Part 1

There was a discreet tap on the sleeping cabin door and Amos called, “Esteban, Esteban, can you come down to the sick berth.” He repeated himself once and then twice, the second time slightly louder. “It is most urgent, a case down in the sick berth that I need your advice.” Stephen, the lighter of the two sleepers, stirred and wriggled out from under Jack’s arm and out of the cot.

“Wait Amos, I’ll be out in a minute.” He called. Jack stirred and murmured a half-sleepy protest at the withdrawal of Stephen’s body. Stephen bent and kissed him, “Go back to sleep Jack. I have to see a patient down in the sick berth.” He recovered his nightshirt from the deck and donned it and pulled a coat over it and slipped on his list slippers and padded quietly to the door, closing it quietly after him.

Killick was standing there now in his nightshirt and nightcap, curious as always to find out what was going on. Stephen nodded to him and turned to Amos, “Dr Jacob what is the problem?”

“It is old Joe Plaice. I’m quite worried about him. The break in his leg seemed quite simple, no complications, even with his age. We had it set in the Basra method but Poll noticed something about an hour or so ago when she checked the sick berth and she heard his breathing. It sounded odd. He has slipped into a coma, his breathing stertorous, and his body temperature very low. The pulse is weak and fitful. The toes of the broken leg have turned blue and there is no or little circulation of blood there.”

Killick, one of Plaice’s messmates looked very subdued at this. Plaice was one of the few shipmates left on board from the ‘old’ Surprise days, when she was a proper King’s ship, perhaps the last of them other than himself and Awkward Davies. Stephen looked at him and then at Amos, “There is probably nothing that I can do, but I’ll look at him anyway. There may be some clue to be found that would explain his present condition. Come Killick you can help us, we may have to lift and carry him to a firm surface to break the cast and have a closer look at the leg. Come.”

They hurried down to the orlop, Stephen noted and confirmed all the signs described by Amos, and Plaice’s breathing was even more laboured now. He touched the toes of the broken leg, “Yes, they’re quite cold. Killick help Poll get the chests set up, so we can lay him across them.” Killick and Poll hurried to comply as Stephen swapping into Latin, “There appears to be some block in the circulation in the leg, clotted blood perhaps cutting off the flow. The coma though that would only be explained if gangrene had set in and poisoned the blood and it is certainly too soon for that, the toes are blue, but have not turned black yet.”

Another patient cleared his throat and they turned. “Sirs, sirs … I was awake sir, earlier… I thought he was poorly then…”

“Yes Childers what did you hear or see?”

“Well I thought his leg was bothering him. He sort of stiffened all over with a gasp and he screwed his face up, and half his body shook like he was in pain and then he muttered something I couldn’t understand and then he seemed to go still sir, but he was breathing, so I just thought he was asleep.”

Stephen’s face grew more serious and to Amos in Latin, “Apoplexy, it seems but what could be the cause?” He turned to Childers, “Thank you Childers we won’t disturb you for much longer, we will take Plaice now… Killick is everything ready?” He nodded. “Take his shoulders, Amos and I will support his legs.”

Stephen lifted Plaice’s eyelids to examine his eyes, the pupils now quite dilated and made a minute examination of Plaice’s skull and saw no signs of crepitation or indentation or any other damage, other than the scarring and bumps created by his original trepanning many years ago. “No evidence of any recent damage that I can find. Amos do you remember any conversation with Plaice where he described how he broke his leg?”

Amos shook his head, “No he was in much pain and did not say anything. He was quite conscious throughout the initial examination and setting of the leg but no, he did not say anything or complain about hitting his head or any damage there.”

Killick cleared his throat again and Stephen looked up, “Sir I was visiting with him earlier this evening sirs, just to cheer him along sirs. He told me that he fell, not that far from the deck, off the shrouds sirs, not even from the top. Said he must’ve fell, awkward like or his bones were getting old. He never said he hit his head sirs. Can you open his head up anyway, just in case, like you did before, sir? He was as Lazarus restored after that sir.”

“Perhaps, Killick, but it may not answer … Needless to say I would need the light of day to do so and I’m not sure that …” Stephen looked up at Amos. “Either way I would like to look at the leg to see if we missed something. I do not like that the toes are so blue. Have you a chisel and a mallet of sorts? We will have to hammer it and then try to saw it through to take it off. Killick please take hold of the cast while we attempt to remove it.”

The initial hammer stroke on the chisel was lucky, it cracked the cast from just above the knee right down almost to the foot and it required little sawing and manipulation to remove it from the leg. Stephen quickly snipped through the bandaging underneath to reveal the leg. The break at the upper end of the tibia was obvious by the swelling of that part of the leg, but the flesh above and behind the knee was also swollen and suffused with extravasated blood and was now starting to swell a little further with the removal of the pressure of the cast. “One of the major arteries or veins must be blocked. The break is clean, a simple fracture but the force and jarring of the fall has caused more extensive soft tissue damage, perhaps vascular damage we did not notice. The whole lower part of the limb is cold. It is definitely not receiving a proper supply of blood. It may explain the apoplexy.”

“How so?”

“If part of the clot in one of the veins or arteries in his leg broke off and was pumped through his body, it is possible that some of it has lodged in the fine blood vessels of the brain itself, damaging them and causing further haemorrhaging there. It may already be too late, if there has been a major bleed into the brain tissue. It could be anywhere in the brain. The only benefit of trepanning would be to relieve any further build up of pressure on the brain. I suppose we could attempt to remove the existing metal covering of the dura mater that I inserted in the original operation.” Stephen shrugged and shook his head, indicating his uncertainty and looked at Amos, hoping he may have any other thoughts or ideas on the matter.

“But we must do something, don’t you think? Killick expects it? He has seen you work miracles before with this technique.”

Stephen frowned, “Don’t talk nonsense Amos, you know it’s not miraculous. I think there is a greater probability of St Patrick or the Virgin Mary, herself or the Archangel Gabriel, if you prefer coming down to us and touching Joe to raise him up, than either of us bringing about a cure with trepanning or any other means at our disposal. I don’t want to get anyone’s hopes for a cure too high. It would be too cruel. Jack will be upset and Killick. Joe is a very old shipmate. One of the ‘original’ Surprises in the crew and there are so few left, so many gone.”

“And it would upset you too, Esteban?” This said in Catalan.

“Yes, it does, but I am a physician and I have to make a decision about Joe Plaice, no matter my feelings.”

“Then raise the metal covering attached to his skull, could it cause any further harm?”

“No, but it still requires more light than is available at the moment. I would not like to cause more damage. We shall have to wait till day. All we can do at the moment is to keep Plaice warm, hoping he will recover consciousness on his own. As for his leg, I do not want to amputate just yet. We still have some time.” He touched the leg again, “It feels a little warmer, and perhaps there is a little more flow, once the additional restriction of the cast has been removed. We will wait. Poll can you stay by Joe and call for us if there is any change, any change whatsoever. Come Amos, we will go up to the cabin and wait there, unless you wish to go back to rest in your cot? Killick, can you make some coffee for us, before you go back to your hammock?”

“Yes sir, right away sir,” Killick walked aft to arrange for the galley stove to be fired up and Stephen and Amos followed him.

The smell of coffee in the cabin roused Jack who walked out to see Stephen and Amos in their nightshirts, sitting at the table sipping coffee and eating ship’s biscuit. “Good morning doctors. You’re both up extremely early. Is there a problem?”

“Good morning Jack, my dear. Joe Plaice has sunk into a coma and at the moment I’m loath to take any action till we have more light. I don’t wish to inflict any further injury by my actions.”

“Oh, that is bad. You are going to open up his skull again?”

“Yes. I’m hoping it may resolve any build up of pressure in the cranium, but at the same time it may be all for nought. I wish I could be certain.” Stephen looked down at the table.

“You’ll do your best Stephen, you always do. That’s all we can ask of you. Shall I get Killick to arrange an early breakfast for you both, so that you’re well set up for the day?”

“Thank you Jack…”

“And which it is being made ready at the moment sirs. I’ll just set the table. Will you be having your breakfast with the doctors sir?”

“Yes thank you Killick.”

Their breakfast was taken in almost complete silence. Stephen in a deep study, as he tried to recall all the details of Plaice’s treatment, searching for any sign or symptom that may have been overlooked, troubled that they might have prevented this, if they had been more alert. He hated circumstances like this. He could accept the loss of a man badly injured in battle, he could not so easily accept a man’s death, if it was due to his negligence, it gnawed at him.

Amos and Jack looked at him, seeing his expression drawn and haggard with care. Jack touched his hand, “Stephen, Stephen is there any point worrying yourself so about this? You will do all that is humanly possible, I know. No one will blame you if well, if… things don’t work out the way we would like.”

“But I will, if I’ve missed something, if I should have done something, seen something and did not take action. It will be my fault.”

“Esteban there was nothing, nothing out of the ordinary with this case. Blaming yourself will not change anything. I will go down to my cabin and bring my notebook up and we will see.” Amos got up and hurried below.

“More coffee sirs?”

“Yes, Killick another pot if you please.” Jack replied.

Amos arrived after the pot and he opened the book in the first faint light of dawn. He opened it at the previous day’s entries and searched for the correct entry and turned it around and Stephen bent to read it. “Simple break in the upper tibia, some contusion but no open wounds, some torsion of the knee ligaments, slight oedema round the break and some heat, but not excessive.”

“See Esteban, if there was heat around the break, it meant that at that stage, there was no blockage of the vascular system. It was the body seeking to heal itself by bringing blood, an excess of blood to cure itself. A perfectly normal break with normal body reactions, nothing that could have told you this would happen and we treated Joe as we would any other patient with this type of injury. Please stop this pointless self-blame, we did what we thought was right.”

“Yes, I’m sorry, I should concentrate on what we are to do to correct this rather than look back at what we might have done. Can we lift one of the gratings of the hatches in the forecastle?” Jack nodded his agreement. “We will operate there, then.”

All the men who were not on watch gathered in the forecastle when the word spread that the Doctor was going to open up Joe Plaice’s skull again. Joe was placed on a chair, and tied to it and the barber shaved Plaice’s pate bare. Stephen picked up his scalpel and placed his hands gently on Joe’s skull, almost in benediction, muttered a quick prayer and was about to cut the skin when Amos hand reached out to stop him. “No need Esteban, no need. He’s stopped breathing, look.”

Stephen shook his head, “No, I …” He bent and gently lifted Joe’s head to look at his face, his hand going to the pulse point at the throat. No movement and he could hear no respiration; he put his scalpel down and stood his head bent. He looked up at the men and then shook his head sadly and looked down. “Poll, Davies please move Joe back to the sick berth.” He was clearly upset and all could see it and he strode aft towards the great cabin.

Mr Wells ran to the quarterdeck to tell the Admiral what was going on. Jack was extremely squeamish about blood and the insides of human bodies and certainly did not want to view the operation. He knew it had just begun and was surprised to see Mr Wells running toward the quarterdeck, but did not have to ask, he could see the boy’s face. “Oh sir, old Joe Plaice died before the Doctor could do anything. He is so upset, he’s gone straight to the cabin.”

“Thank you Mr Wells.” Jack nodded and walked to starboard, Mr Harding vacating the place for Jack. He stared out to sea thinking about Plaice. Old Joe was not the most likeable of men on occasions. He often took a delight in scaring the more gullible and the young with his stories and superstition and he was not above spreading a bit of malicious gossip, if he chose to believe it, though he was a good seaman. Could teach the young reefers their knots, a reliable man and yes he would miss him, like he missed all of the ‘old’ Surprises, perhaps not as much as Bonden, his coxswain but he like Killick had been around almost from when he had first risen to a command position.

Jack looked up and asked, “Is Dr Jacob with Dr Maturin at the moment?”

“Yes sir, he came aft, after they settled Joe Plaice. He’s with Dr Maturin now, sir.” Mr Whewell replied.

“Good, I’ll go down and see how Stephen is. Mr Harding the deck is yours.”

“Esteban, do you think that we should open Plaice’s skull to see what the cause of the apoplexy was?”

“No Amos, his friends would not like that and no, I couldn’t do it, treat him as just another cadaver. No, his messmates will want the body to prepare it for burial. I’m not sure when Jack will have the service. Perhaps this afternoon, more likely tomorrow I should think. Don’t worry Amos; it is just my usual depression when I feel I have failed, a little more painful because it cost the life of an old friend. I shall be fine.”

Jack stuck his head round the door as Amos looked up, “Esteban I shall go. Here is the Admiral. I shall see you later, in the evening for our rounds then?”

“Yes, of course Amos.” Stephen nodded.

Jack nodded as Amos walked by, “Thank you Dr Jacob.” He walked to the table and pulled a chair out and sat down beside Stephen, reaching out to him, putting his arm round Stephen’s shoulders to draw him close. He pulled him into his arms and held him. “Are you all right Stephen?” He asked.

“Yes Jack, just a little melancholy in losing a battle, but then was there any battle to begin with. The attempt to open Plaice’s skull was a last resort measure anyway. The battle had already been lost and perhaps it was only pride that made me even consider it, though from what I remember, you may have called it duty.”

“How so?” Jack asked.

“Do you remember when we were lying in wait for those three American Chinamen at the Horn and I questioned your decision to remain there? Questioned whether the basis of your decision to remain in the general area and not go straight home smacked of pride which goeth before destruction rather than your ‘duty’, as you claimed it to be.”

“Yes and I remember you making some suggestion that since we were staying, mayn’t we go a little further south so that we could see the ice, a suggestion that I declined at once due to my hatred of the despicable stuff. As I told you then I will not give any countenance to the vile stuff and if I remember correctly you made some allusions as to how graceful timidity became me. Stephen you may think me slow but consider the love I bear for you that I take these insults with such good countenance.”

Stephen smiled up at him and kissed his cheek, “Most noble of you my dear, but you did manage to reverse the situation somewhat the next day. Your suggestion to go up to the crow’s nest on the main topmast with the ship rolling and pitching frightfully and this suggestion made in front of all the assembled officers put me at a grave disadvantage and I had no choice but to ascend to the dizzying heights with the ship skipping and bounding across the waves. I remember lying in the straw after peeking over the edge and being mesmerised by the sight of you or rather your pigtail swinging first to the left and then to the right and then straight back as the mast gyrated in those awful ellipses.”

“Oh Stephen you disappoint me. So it was a sort of motion sickness, rather than overwhelming desire for me that kept your gaze fixed on me for so long?” Jack laughed as he remembered looking down at Stephen lying coiled in the straw staring at him with such intensity. At the time he wondered if he could risk sinking into the straw with him and kissing Stephen, the walls of the crow’s nest would have obscured them from the sight of the rest of the crew and officers.

“You very well know Jack that I was absolutely terrified, though I did attempt to conceal it.”

“The look of horror on your face as you were rising above the deck with the double whip around your waist was a sight to behold and it did give me some enjoyment of being able to hold you as I guided you into the nest.” Jack pulled Stephen back into his arms and kissed him.

“A satyr Jack, a veritable satyr, you are.” He pulled away and stood up, “It’s all right Jack, truly, sometimes I just feel a little down when I have lost someone and Joe Plaice was one of our oldest shipmates and I, we shall miss him. I think I’ll just go up on deck and get some fresh air, clear my head. Oh and here’s Mr Adams with I’m sure more paperwork for you to complete or sign.”

Stephen escaped from the cabin, but not from scrutiny. All the officers and men had heard how upset he had been at the loss of Plaice and many sought to comfort him with words or small kindnesses, pointing out birds he might be interested in and the like. He felt oppressed, knowing that it was well meant but wanting to get away from it. He walked forward and was looking up at the foremast wondering if he should climb up to the top. The wind was moderate and the ship a little skittish and …

“Do you want to go up, sir?” Davies was standing beside him.

“Yes, I think I might.” Stephen looked up nervously again.

“Let me help you, sir. You just climb and I’ll follow you like, look out for your feet, to make sure you don’t fall.”

The men and officers below nervously followed his slow and tortuous progress and all breathed a sigh of relief when Davies hauled him up on to the top through the lubber’s hole. “Thank you, Davies. That will be all.”

“It’s a bit parky up here, sir with the wind still a bit sharp. Do you want me to bring you up a cloak?” Davies asked.

“No, Davies, I shall shelter behind the screen. The sun is shining brightly and I’m sure it will warm up as the day goes on.” Stephen was eager for him to leave.

Stephen sat back on some folded studdingsails and contemplated the vista, the dark blue of the Atlantic with the white caps flecking its surface. The white clouds ever moving east, pushed by the persistent westerlies blowing off the steppes of Patagonia. He drew his knees up and folded his arms over them and leant his chin on his folded arms. ‘Why has Plaice’s death affected me more than others’ recently? I’ve always had the ability to distance myself from my patients’ deaths, but the vast majority of those up till this last year or so have been as a result of warfare or accidents in the pursuit of an enemy. Is it, that now there is no longer an enemy to blame, I cannot help but take total responsibility for the death of my patients upon myself? Plaice was an old shipmate, as was Bonden, but Bonden was killed in the heat of battle and though I felt sadness at the time I certainly did not experience this degree of depression. At the time Bonden died, perhaps I was still numb after Diana’s death and this dulled the feelings that I would normally expect at the loss of an old and valued friend. Is it only now that all my feelings are fully restored and I feel properly alive again? These last few weeks of discussion and argument with Jack, the opening up, the confessions of our secret thoughts, has it made me more sensitive, more open to fluctuations of mood, of soaring elation and the sink into depression or anger? I know sexually I have been more responsive and more active with Jack recently than I have been for a number of years. When was the last time, Jack and I sought pleasure from each other’s bodies so urgently, so frequently? It was before Diana’s death, I know that. Yes, that last leg of our extended voyage around the world, before I was distracted by Brigid and her problems, Diana’s flight and the added complications to my life created by Habachtsthal’s malice and all the problems related to Jack’s career.’

‘Our relationship had returned to being an amiable friendship and we shared music again, but it had still not been fully restored. There was still some lingering soreness relating to our earlier disagreement over Padeen’s presence on board as well as Jack’s dalliance with Puolani standing between us. Was I jealous? Somewhat, but I think the overall effect of his encounter with her was to relieve his frustration and it did calm him. I don’t know whether it was the successful action on shore or his night with Puolani, but if his irascibility had continued I may have had to take the situation or some part of Jack’s anatomy in hand, most firmly.’ Stephen smiled at this thought, of how surprised Jack would have been if he had attempted such a cure. ‘I had enough to worry about later on with poor Nathaniel.’

‘That part of the voyage started spectacularly and I suppose one could say successfully. The volcano that exploded from under the sea injured and disabled our quarry much more severely than our ship, but I could never say it made me happy. The deaths on board both ships, the long intervals of continuous activity, cutting, probing, sawing, splinting, sewing and bandaging, first our men and then the remaining crew on the Franklin was as horrendous as the injuries inflicted. Poor unlucky West, so close to attaining his goal and to be cut down by one of the pyroclastic bombs ejected by the volcano. I wonder if I did my best for him. I remember thinking perhaps I was too tired, exhausted from a long night’s toil operating on the other men. Should I have attempted such delicate surgery in such a state? On the other hand, it would have been totally pointless if I’d waited any longer to attempt the trepanning. I was never totally happy with my actions at that time, my mind affected, clouded by fatigue, perhaps making the wrong decision. It’s too late, much too late for regrets and what purpose would it serve?’ He shook his head sadly.

‘Superficially it was a stroke of luck for us, but was it? We ended up with Dutourd on board, a man of considerable evangelical skills, in the spreading of his personal philosophies to all concerned. He was not a man that you could ignore for he would never allow that, as he always had to be at the centre of events, seen to be a ‘great man’, a man of history. His was a strangely naïve and simple philosophy, preaching equality for all and the doing away with all private material possessions as one means of attaining this goal, but it appealed to Vidal and the other Knipperdollings. If I had not been so intent on Jack and the work that was soon to be at hand on land, I would have ensured that his pernicious influence was removed. But no Jack was at the centre of my heart and life again, our relationship strengthening again in the slow languid days of fitful winds. It was so deliciously warm and I started swimming with Jack again and the touches, the brushing and the stolen kisses began again. My body tingled with anticipation waiting for the evenings. I felt his eyes on me as I stretched naked in my little skiff or if he leant over the rail to talk to me as I stretched out on the mainchains, soaking up the warmth of the sun. In the warm tropical nights he took me, loved me again. Many nights, after the music we spent making love on the stern window locker bench, the windows open to the warm night air. There was no way either of us would give up these nights alone together, no matter how many hints Dutourd may have made about joining us in our playing or how displeased he was to be denied. As well as incurring Dutourd’s dislike of me and of Jack, those nights strengthened Jack’s dislike of Martin. For one night poor Nathaniel, wanting to speak to me urgently about a patient managed to bypass Killick and unintentionally blundered in upon us at a moment of passion that only made things worse with Jack. I don’t believe Martin actually recognised what was going on before his eyes that night, perhaps he could not believe that two men, two married men could have a sexual relationship. He never mentioned it to me, never talked about it. I think he must have put it down, as some hallucination induced from what he believed was his sinful and diseased state of mind and body. Though part of him must have believed it and perhaps it was the reason he was so sharp with me, so cutting in his comments, reminding me of my past addiction to laudanum with strong disapprobation. He was also deliberately cruel at that dinner when I tried to tell him about my discoveries concerning the frigate bird’s breastbone structures. Most of it was the guilt and fear he was experiencing at the time but maybe a little of his anger was generated by his knowledge of what he had seen that night. Did it excite a guilty curiosity, desire and even jealousy within his breast? I do not know. He never talked to me about it, even after he was finally convinced he was not rotting away with the pox because of his sinful desires and thoughts about Clarissa. But what did he actually see?’

“Stephen come here, closer to me my dear. Do you wish to go on with the music?” Jack asked and I knew that look and that smile. He wanted me; I could feel the heat in that look. He picked up the cello and plucked the bow from my hand and leant the cello against my chair and pulled me up and kissed me, kissed me till I was breathless. His hands were brushing me, touching me, feeling me; setting off sparks of desire throughout my body. I was responding to him, as I always do these days, willingly, eagerly. He pushed his thigh between my legs and pressed himself against me and felt my erection straining against my breeches. He bent down and whispered, “Shouldn’t I remove those restrictive breeches, it seems part of you wants to be free of all restraint.”

“Please …” was my only response as he pulled my shirt off and pushed me down on the locker bench and removed the slippers on my feet and my breeches, bending to kiss my cock, taking it into his mouth and gently sucking me. I was more than eager now, desperately wanting more contact I tried to push into his mouth but he held me down and withdrew and sat there smiling with pleasure, obviously enjoying the sight of my aroused body. He bent and suckled my nipples, sucking and biting them till they were flushed and a deep pink and then to my mouth again and then a long slide of his tongue down from my mouth, down the centre of my chest to my navel. Licking and sucking and tasting me, making my skin tingle, come alive to his touch, wanting more of it and then down again, lapping at my now weeping cock. “Jack please…” I gasped again, trying to remove his shirt.

He shrugged out of his shirt, kicked his boots off and almost ripped his breeches off in his urgency to be free of them. He lay down on top of me rubbing his cock against mine, holding our cocks together. I felt the heat of his cock against mine, its stiffness, the vibrations along the length of it exciting me further. “Jack, please put it in me, take me, please Jack.” He smiled down at me his fingers reaching down and touching me there, one finger worming its way inside me. The ring of muscle contracted around his finger and he pulled out and then pushed it in and in and out. He spat into his palm and with the spittle there bathed his finger and he returned to his teasing making me ready, relaxing me, watching my every expression, absorbing with pleasure my every gasp and moan of desire.

He lifted me, “Are you ready for me Stephen?”

“Please hurry, hurry, want you inside me so much, please.”

“So impatient for me, my dear,” he bent and kissed me tenderly, sweetly. His tongue pushing in tickling my tongue and he pushed in slowly, oh so slowly and then out, pulling out again slowly torturing me and then in again, brushing that place. I yelped and pushed up, his cock now fully inside me, I urged him on with my hands, with fervent kisses and he gave in and started to push in and out faster and faster until I came and shot my spend onto his stomach and his chest and then felt it warm and wet between us as he reached his climax and I could feel his sweet cock quivering and vibrating inside me, bathing me with warmth and he slumped down, kissing and biting my neck. It was only then that I heard another’s breathing and I looked up to see Nathaniel standing there, his mouth open in shock and what else? I don’t know. He blushed and muttered he would see me later and hurried from the cabin.

Jack glared at the closing door, “How did that damned parson get in? How dare he intrude into our privacy?”

“Shh, Jack let me think. How much did he see I wonder? I cannot explain it away. Our actions were quite clear.” I pushed at Jack’s chest. “Let me up Jack.” He got off me and I sat up and pondered what I should do. “Look Jack I’ll go and see him, explain … I don’t know … he’s not a vindictive or mean man. I don’t think he will say anything to anyone.”

“Why should you explain anything to him? It was him who barged in here, unasked.”

“Be reasonable Jack. Let me see what I can do?” I kissed him and stood. He held me and wiped my body with his shirt to wipe the remains of our passion from it and pulled me close kissing my stomach.

“All right, but if he’s going to cause trouble he is off the ship at our first landfall. Do you understand? Make him understand that at least.” Jack stood and kissed me again. I pulled my clothes on and hurried down to the sick berth.

Martin turned and greeted me with a smile of relief, “Oh there you are Maturin, I was just thinking of coming and getting you. Gordon’s wound here is troubling me. Could you look at it?”

I stared at him, “But you were just in the great cabin with us. I followed you down.”

“No you are mistaken Maturin. Perhaps you were dreaming it. I haven’t been in the great cabin at all.”

I looked at him again and he looked directly back at me, no sign of prevarication or uncertainty. Perhaps the sight of us together had so shocked him he chose to believe he had imagined it. I would get no admissions here. I let it rest.

Stephen frowned as he looked forward, ‘Yes I let it rest. I didn’t want to stir his suspicions but perhaps part of him did believe it. It doesn’t matter any more. After his unsuccessful and almost lethal self-prescription of the Vienna treatment, he could not stay at sea and had to be set down on shore, his sense of balance totally destroyed. He gladly took up the livings offered by Jack and I hope he prospers still and has relearned to love all the wild things of this world.’

The sun was warmer now and Stephen removed his coat and loosened his neck cloth and lay back against the studdingsails. He thought of Dutourd again and frowned, ‘Damned pest of a man, caused me so much trouble and ruined all of our plans, but was I like him once? I once shared his enthusiasms for grand revolutionary schemes based on the principles of logic and reason and had dreams of a world of unbounded freedom, equality and freedom from poverty and all its attendant miseries, a world freely accessible to all but I changed, matured if you will. Grew to understand the limitations that are set on these fine theories by the baseness of human nature. If all men were perfect, ideal beings such societies could exist and even work harmoniously, but no man is and these fantasy societies will never be established. These theories lack understanding of basic humanity, the dreams of young men with no knowledge of life and its joys and miseries.’

Stephen looked down and forward and smiled as he saw that one of the albatrosses, not the great albatross of the southern oceans but one of his lesser cousins was flying in front of the ship, pitter pattering across the face of the waves with swift movements of its legs and then soaring skywards in a rapid smooth arc. This world of sky and sea with its abundant life was an infinite source of pleasure and joy for him. ‘But then it is Dutourd that I must thank for my opportunity to explore the high Andes and all the wonders there. My first condor, guanacos, llamas, vicuñas and mountain viscachas, my flightless grebe from Lake Titicaca, the puma and the flamingos of the altiplano lakes and wonder of wonders in this cold and inhospitable terrain the infinite wonder of the minute green jewel-like hummingbird feeding from the giant puya, a truly wondrous bromeliad. Yes and I also have him to thank for my friendship with Eduardo. How will I ever explain Eduardo to Jack? We certainly did nothing improper of course but of him I can truly say that he is one of those rare creatures that I liked straight away and whose company never palled. He was straightforward, friendly and wholly unaffected and he combined these sterling qualities with a deep interest in living things of which he had a great fund of knowledge, especially of his own country, the high Andes. He had a directness and modesty and a simplicity that with his charmingly accented Spanish had me quite enthralled. He told me of all the interlinking tribes and families of the Inca and I believe entertained hopes of me providing funds to encourage a freedom movement to be created for the native peoples. It tore at my heart but I could not encourage him. Britain was not interested in native rule, they were only interested in an independent Peru ruled by the Spanish colonialists, men they thought they could deal with. I have him to thank for my life, finding that crevice when the viento blanco descended on us, snuggling up to me and keeping me warm through the night. I chose not to tell Jack of that, I don’t think he would quite approve. I know I did not even use his proper name later when I told of my adventures back on the Surprise. Why the secrecy? Was it just my usual aversion to giving information concerning my intelligence activities? Or was there a desire to conceal my feelings about him from Jack? No matter really as nothing happened between us, but I could not say that I would not have welcomed an approach from him. He may have saved my life but unfortunately my feet were vulnerable and I did not escape without some frostbite damage. I still remember the pain of chiselling off those blackened toes from my foot. I remember Eduardo carrying me on his back across the Inca bridges that span those truly stupendous chasms, the water boiling at a terrifying distance below. If things had been different I could have spent many months in his company, a true brother in his love of wild places and things.’

‘Then I returned to the ship and to Jack. I was boosted up the side of the ship, dripping wet and he clasped me to him, all the men cheering and welcoming me home. Yes this is my home, my true home now. Jack literally carried me down to the cabin and plucked my clothes off and laughing kissed and hugged me before Killick came in with towels and dry clothes for me. Yes I was home and Jack was thinner and rather haggard but with my return I saw him come back to life and on our cruise down to the Horn, there were perfect, idyllic days for us. For him the days were filled with the finest blue water sailing and mine with working with my specimens and the nights full of music and Jack and love. It was perfect.’ Stephen leant back again and smiled at the memories.

A hand snaked round his waist and Jack’s mouth descended on Stephen’s. Jack pulled back and smiled at Stephen, “Well you look happier than earlier this morning. What have you been thinking about?”

“I thought you were worried about the men gossiping about us? That kiss will certainly set tongues wagging if any sharp eyes noticed you just then and as you are well aware you invariably are the centre of attention on board. Well in the last few minutes, I was thinking of those marvellous weeks out from Valparaiso sailing down to the Horn to rendezvous with the American Chinamen. It was a happy time for us, after weeks of toil and worry. The last truly carefree weeks I had for a long time really. What have you been doing?”

“More of that damnable paperwork that you left me with when you deserted me for your perch here and I don’t care who saw me kiss you. I’m allowed to comfort you, aren’t I? Have you resolved your worries about Plaice, or your treatment of him?”

“I’m not sure that kiss would be considered as an appropriate means of comfort by most people in society, though I do appreciate it, my dear. Resolved my worries about my treatment of Plaice? Not really but the more I think about it, the more I realise that my reaction was exaggerated by circumstances and changes within myself. It doesn’t mean my worries are not valid but perhaps there are other things that I have not considered up till now that affected my reaction. The rest of the time I was thinking of that final part of that voyage in the Pacific and in Peru and considering our life then.”

Jack smiled as he recalled those marvellous days and nights. “Yes those days and nights were very good. You were especially loving, now that I recall. It made up for all the tension of the months before. If it wasn’t for that fellow Dutourd, stirring some of the men from Shelmerston with his god damned democratical theories, you would have succeeded, I’m sure of it. I was so shocked to know that such a good man as Vidal betrayed me and what was worse betrayed and endangered you by helping him escape. The man-of-war men knew him for the type of man he was, Monsieur Turd indeed.” Jack laughed and looked serious again. “What else?”

“Oh thinking about Plaice brought to mind my failure with Mr West after he was injured as a result of that volcanic eruption and how tired I was and miserable treating all those wounded men from our ship and the Franklin and now that I think of it the injuries that you suffered taking that pirate ship, the Alastor and the truly shocking carnage. It was truly necessary I suppose to kill them all, was it?”

“Yes Stephen it was. If the situation had been reversed we would have been slaughtered to a man. They gave no quarter and could expect none to be given. They were pirates, pure and simple and if they were not killed on board they would have been taken back to England to stand trial and hung there. Killing them on the spot was kinder by far.” Jack looked very stern.

Stephen nodded his head. “I see. Well I cannot remember a more bloody few weeks than those few weeks after we captured the Franklin. I am used to blood and not squeamish in the least, unlike some I could mention, but being literally bathed in blood from head to foot is another matter entirely. I have never been so shocked and jarred by the raw violence of that harpooner slamming his weapon through the breast of the master of the Yankee whaler. Your injuries too had me worried. I did not want to leave you in that condition, it troubled me. You were not healing as quickly as you used to. Your eye worried me and I know it has never properly recovered, has it?”

“Just getting old, Stephen and you know you had to go. Anyway you had your revenge, committing me to the tender mercies of Killick. You never did talk much about your doings in Peru, but I suppose it was not something for gossip, though our little story of your licentious capers ashore had you marked as an awful lecher among the men.” Jack laughed again as Stephen looked less than impressed with the last statement. Then Jack laughed again as he recalled something from that time. In between his gusts of mirth, he managed to get out, “I remember you admitting to have committed a grave sin between the gunroom and our cabin and I commented at the time of the wonderful capacity for evil that you must have possessed to commit such a sin in such a short space of time. Perhaps I was right, are there any other sins you may wish to confess?”

“Perhaps one, if the sin is secretiveness, unnecessary secrecy between friends. I remember you asking what I was doing in ’89. I told you I was studying medicine. In theory I was, but most of the time I was running around the streets of Paris. I felt so alive then, alive to the excitement and the new dawn of the Revolution that was breaking out all around me, exalted at the thought that at last a new age had begun, an age where every freedom possible could be imagined. I can only plead youth and inexperience as the reason for such foolishness. For this false dawn was to pass so quickly into death, chaos and brutality and it ended in such darkness and bitterness. As did the later rebellion in Ireland, with those fine ideals we espoused broken and trampled underfoot by the men who in their rush to seek power betrayed every one of these ideals. Unlike Dutourd, I can no longer live my life ruled by visionary ideals, though a part of me, a very small part of me still longs to see those ideals realised. I am a realist and must face the fact that until man is a more perfected creature than his present brutal form none of these dreams can be realised and maybe they never will.” Stephen looked down, looking pensive.

Jack leaned close, “It doesn’t matter you know, I thought I’d touched a raw patch. I never mean to hurt you with my questions Stephen? Did you think I’d disapprove of your activities?”

Stephen looked back at Jack, his head cocked to the side, thinking and then, “No, I don’t think it was that exactly. Yes I have painful memories of that time or rather the aftermath and yet maybe it was rather that I felt ashamed. There I was living a relatively pampered life running around Paris preaching the revolution while you were faced with the grim realities of trying to make a living in a harsh world.”

“Well while you’re in the mood for confessing is there anything else that you might wish to reveal, that you’ve kept secret from me?”

“Actually Jack there is very little that I would not trust you with. You are remarkably discreet when required. As for keeping secrets from you, surely I am allowed a few, am I not?” Stephen stopped and thought of Eduardo. “Well I did not actually keep this a secret but I did underplay and mislead you a little about a person I met in Peru. A young man I found very amiable company. I told you of some of my adventures in the Andes but did not dwell on his presence. I was quite attracted to him and I admit if the circumstances were different and I had had more time and leisure to spend with him and if I had known his mind on such things I might have developed the friendship to a deeper level. He agreed very well with me, we shared a love of and an intense desire for greater knowledge of the natural world and its workings.” Stephen ended lamely. He had seen Jack’s expression change from mild curiosity to a glare when he spoke of wishing to become closer to Eduardo.

“This was the man who saved your life, who spent the night with you in confined quarters up on a mountainside.” Jack asked abruptly.

“Yes it was. He kept me warm during the night with his body; it was the only way we could both survive in the extreme cold. We needed to share our body heat and it certainly was not sexual on his or my part. Jack I had no way of knowing whether he was interested in that sort of activity with a man and he was a nephew of a priest and as far as I could tell a quite devout Catholic. It wasn’t something we discussed. There were too many other things to draw our interest. I know he had hopes that I would help him develop a revolution on behalf of the Incas, but I don’t believe it was the only basis for his friendship for me.”

“But you thought about him in that way and he shared as you said your interest in natural history and such.” Jack accused him. “Much like that parson, Martin.”

“Jack, they were just idle thoughts, with not a scintilla of a possibility of anything eventuating from them. Don’t take them so seriously. There was Diana and Brigid too. Would I throw my life with them away, just on a whim, based on a fleeting acquaintance with a man I found attractive? You were the one who drove any thought or regrets from my mind and confirmed for me that my home, my true home is with you. Did you not think I appreciated your extremely warm welcome to me when I came back to the ship at Valparaiso? I saw the warmth of your expression and revelled in the feel of your arms holding me with so much tenderness. No Jack, I would have been a fool indeed to not know that it was here that I belonged, here with you. There can be no other for me now Jack. Christine Wood is a very intelligent and beautiful lady, Eduardo is a fine man whose company and interests I shared and Nathaniel too, in our early days was an amiable companion, but they all were just friends. There is no comparison between these friendships and ours.” Stephen replied drawing close to Jack and putting his hand on Jack’s chest.

Jack’s posture had changed as Stephen spoke, becoming less rigid and by the end he was smiling a little, remembering that day he had looked forward to, for what seemed so long. The day that ended the two months of fear and worry he had for Stephen’s safety. He pulled Stephen closer, “So you liked your welcome home did you? Just the initial welcome on deck or the later one down in my cabin that night.”

“You know I did you wretched creature. Now you are fishing for compliments. What a coxcomb you’d become if I indulged you.” Stephen replied in a bantering tone, leaning now on Jack’s chest, relaxed now too that Jack’s anger and suspicion had passed and his usual jovial nature had returned to the forefront.

“Any other secrets or lovers I should know about?” Jack asked.

“No, of course not. Where on earth would I have had the time or the energy, pray tell? If I was not on board with you, I was tending to Brigid, searching for Diana, looking after your career and doing a hundred other things. I may have a great capacity for evil as you so kindly pointed out to me, but I would have to have possessed demonic or god-like powers to acquire a lover or two in these last few years. As for secrets, you’ve heard most of them this last week or two. In a few more days my life will be as an open book.”

“Yes but first someone has to give me the lexicon to read it. A lot of it is written in a foreign language I don’t understand.”

“Yes you do, you always have.” Stephen kissed him. “Is that four bells? Surely Killick will be here nagging us about our lateness to dinner? I find Jack that I’m quite hungry. Shall we swarm down the shrouds and devour with relish our salt pork and guzzle our gallon of grog and attack the plum duff with a vengeance? I fear that I am succumbing to gule.”

“I think there is a certain Doctor trying to wriggle out of further confessions. Trying to distract me with food and drink.” Jack laughed, released Stephen and stood up.

“Jack if I wanted to divert your attention I’m sure there are other things I could do, but the foretop is not quite the place for such activities. Shall we go down?”

“By all means my dear, but let me go down first so I can guide your feet.”

“Such a fuss you make Jack. I am a well seasoned nay, a totally soused in salt, seadog now.”

“Soused with salt or otherwise, your sense of balance and head for heights has never been great, so kindly obey me Stephen.” Jack said firmly.

“I shall bow to your superior nautical skills. Lead on.” Stephen slowly and with too much hesitation for such an old seadog made his way down to the deck. The occasional wild swings into mid-air as his hands slipped on the rigging had Jack and the people on deck in a constant state of alarm until Jack lifted him from the rigging on to the deck.

“There plum, safe on deck at last and here comes Killick with a face like thunder.”

“You look quite pale Jack. Was you frightened by the dizzying height Jack or perhaps the vertiginous swaying? I have always seen you as very much the nautical gibbon or maybe gorilla is closer to your size, a great silverback, soaring through the shrouds.”

“No Stephen more likely from the fear of plummeting to my death trying to catch you as you fell from the rigging.”

Killick stood there in what he believed was the correct, respectful manner, but all the time glaring at Stephen with a shrewish, hard-done by expression and in a gap between the conversation inserted, “Sirs and dinner has been on the table this last five minutes. The soup will be cold, the fish dried out and lord knows what the sea-pie will be like, all burnt round the edges and the roly-poly will have fallen to pieces by the time you get to it.”

“Well then there is obviously not a moment to be lost. Shall we go into the sad remains of our dinner Jack?”

“Yes, my dear I find I’m quite clemmed.”
A Friendship Dissected, Chapter 17 – Part 2

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Flying the Flag of Pseudo-Patriotism

The PM wants all our school children saluting the flag. What was the statement of patriotism or the synthetic type of patriotism he is seeking to promote as being the last refuge of scoundrels. Describes our PM to a tee, the slimy little bastard. I think this piece from Alan Ramsey reflects people’s opinion of the PM and his ridiculous pre-election tactics –

Not only flags flying in a lot of hot wind
By Alan Ramsey
June 26, 2004

It has been a wonderful week for the absurd. The compulsory school flagpoles were bad enough. Yet nothing quite matched the pomposity or ridiculousness of Brendan Nelson, the Sydney Liberal infamous for abandoning his earring to become a Howard minister, when he stood beside his patron and Prime Minister on Monday to fulminate about the Commonwealth’s election intervention, with the new fitness and egregious funding rule, in state education, and who said, with genuine horror, as if he’d just discovered he stepped in dog poo: “A number of schools don’t even have a motto!”

Is there nothing this Government won’t do to stop Mark Latham?

Then there were the ongoing exchanges between Latham and John Howard over junk food and fat Australian children and what the Government could or should do to ban junk food advertising during children’s television programs.

On Tuesday, after several bites, Latham lined up yet again to know why Howard had said he was opposed to a ban because of “a loss of revenue to the corporate sector”. Howard got hugely upset with Latham’s “devious and slimy” question, and insisted, sarcastically, that “the last time I looked” it was not illegal for “children to consume McDonald’s”, though it “might be undesirable” to have children consume “too much McDonald’s”.

Next day McDonald’s bought into the issue, claiming its product was highly nutritious and there was absolutely nothing wrong with children eating it once a week.

Latham, meantime, challenged Howard’s “devious and slimy” jibe and quoted the Prime Minister having told the Parliament, in part, about the “impact, once you start banning things, the loss of revenue” would have on Australia’s “very effective and high-quality free-to-air television system”. What Howard said nothing about were the 2000 food vouchers McDonald’s donated to Liberal Party campaign headquarters for the 1996 election – see Pamela Williams’s book The Victory – and, I understand, has gone on donating each election campaign since.

Then there was the email from an old Liberal Party friend on Thursday, which read: “Congrats on your piece on the opinion polls. I’m constantly bemused by the Canberra press gallery’s laziness in its reporting and analysis. It’s tribal, superficial, out-of-touch with real life. Above all it’s so predictable, bogged down in the excruciating detail of daily political combat. Only a few seem to want to hold the Government to account for its deeds and words. They seem to prefer the contest – the slippery, weasel words, the insults – to actually reporting fact and separating it from propaganda. Was it always thus? I think not.

“Have not changed my mind about the outcome of this eight-month election campaign. Howard will lose, not because he’s personally hated (like Keating was by many) but because normal people are getting tired of the constant fear-mongering, the lies, the over-the-top propaganda, pathetic use of flags and soldiers in uniform, the wedge attempts, kids locked up, the shrilly desperate Downer, the revolting Ruddock (he used to be a liberal), and above all the old-style politics of say anything, do anything, deny everything. Jesus, it looks and sounds so tawdry.

“It is eerie watching CNN or Fox cable news. Bush, Cheney, Ashcroft; it could be Howard, Costello, Ruddock. The words and symbols are almost identical. By Christmas it will be all over – in both countries.

“Sorry about the rant. It comes over me when I get deeply depressed.”

Many of us know exactly what he means.

And Julia Baird seems to have a handle on what most people’s feelings about our country –

We need patriots, not cheerleaders
By Julia Baird
June 26, 2004

When I was in primary school, and living in New York for a few years, I was amazed at – and sometimes even envious of – the nationalism of my schoolmates. They were so proud to be American. Maybe part of it came from the fact that my best friend’s name was Erica, and she could declare smugly, “I AmErica”, thereby claiming her status as the country’s No.1 nine-year-old. The rest came from the morning ritual of singing anthems and pledging allegiance, with hands over hearts, to the flag “of the United States of America. And to the republic, for which it stands, one nation, under God” and so on.

For years I resisted, standing silently. (Other protesters shouted “I do NOT pledge allegiance” or crossed their fingers behind their backs.)

And now, John Howard wants us to do the same. This week he announced that $31 billion in school funding would only be provided to schools who had functioning flagpoles and flew the Australian flag. He said all schools should have a motto, and it would be a good idea if students sang the national anthem each week. There is nothing inherently wrong with any of those ideas, although I think there is clearly something in the Australian character which is inherently suspicious of forced or overt displays of ersatz patriotism. We’re not a nation of over-excitable cheerleaders.

The point is, why talk about it now, when most schools already have flags? It was interesting how this idea captured debate, instead of how much money was actually being given to schools. Howard insisted he was in tune with modern thinking: “I don’t think there’s anything old-fashioned about the display of patriotic symbols,” he said. “The younger generations embrace these things … Thirty years ago I wouldn’t have wandered the shores of Gallipoli with an Australian flag draped around my shoulders … but I tell you what, my children would and many of their friends do and … that is why it is not trite and irrelevant and old-fashioned to say you’ve got to have a flagpole so you can fly the Australian flag.”

He repeated the idea to Alan Jones, saying “this idea that it’s old-fashioned to want to have the flag being flown is completely out of date”.

But the truth is, debates about the flag have gone on for centuries, in this country and elsewhere. History provides evidence that there is good reason to be suspicious of people in powerful positions who exploit national symbols or promote an unblemished version of our history and our country, particularly at times of war or a national election.

History is usually in conflict with nationalism – because the former tries to construct some kind of truth about who we are and what we have done, and the latter makes claims about who we want to be, denying mistakes like a drunken man refusing to go home. Patriotic fever is the alcoholic revelry; history is the hangover, trying to remember, to understand through the haze of the night before.

Writing at the close of World War II, George Orwell distinguished between patriotism and nationalism, arguing: “By patriotism I mean devotion to a particular place and a particular way of life, which one believes to be the best in the world but has no wish to force upon other people. Patriotism is of its nature defensive, both militarily and culturally. Nationalism, on the other hand, is inseparable from the desire for power. The abiding purpose of every nationalist is to secure more power and more prestige for the nation or other unit in which he has chosen to sink his own individuality.”

It’s an important distinction. There’s nothing wrong in thinking this is the best country in the world. There are few of us who do not love this country fiercely. The problem is we need more than flag-waving in an era of American imperialism, pre-emptive strikes, mandatory detention and an almost daily dismantling of the reasons our governments gave for going to war.

For decades the debate about our national shame has hinged on the past – what we did to the Aborigines to whose shores we sailed, seeking a new home. Now our shame is present – it has become what we have done to those who have sailed here since, seeking refuge. It is about the war we fought in Iraq because we were asked to, for reasons which were false.

Orwell wrote that “The nationalist not only does not disapprove of atrocities committed by his own side, but he has a remarkable capacity for not even hearing about them.”

And it is this which is troubling, not patriotism. The tectonic plates of national identity are grinding against each other as we rethink who we are, in Asia, in alliance with America, in defending our own shores.

What do we need to be proud of ourselves as a nation?

To know we will hold accountable those who led us to war, against our will and our reason. To stop punishing asylum seekers and psychologically torturing their children by imprisoning them behind barbed wire. To stop paying lip-service to truth. To listen to the canaries in the mine like the poets, the dreamers, instead of polarising people in the archaic left-right divide. To honour people like the Salvation Army court chaplains, who retired this week and were recognised for a lifetime of selfless and compassionate work – instead of continually thrusting microphones in the faces of the vapid and self-promoting, or the politically banal.

It’s not poles and banners we’re lacking. We need inspiration and imagination to make us stand tall under our flag again.

jbaird@smh.com.au

And I’m with Martin Ball –

Time to sit down and be counted

We are being dragooned into patriotism and it doesn’t sit well with the laconic Aussie, writes Martin Ball.

“Patriotism is the last refuge of a scoundrel.” Wise words from Dr Johnson, a conservative moralist and committed monarchist. But were he to utter these words today, Samuel Johnson would likely be branded seditious, or a traitor. Patriotism is in vogue; in fact, patriotism is now virtually compulsory.

That seems to be the message in John Howard’s observation this week about a cultural change in relation to the display of national symbols.

“The display of the national flag by Australians now is far more regular, far more visible, far more a part of life than it was when I was 30 years younger,” said the Prime Minister, and this, he stressed, is “very compatible and very consonant with what people want”.

In that twilight of 30 years ago, I recall standing to attention as the flag was raised at Monday morning assembly in the schoolyard. We sang the national anthem, the boys saluted and the girls curtsied – as if the flag were a living incarnation of the Queen.

We didn’t take it seriously then, and I can’t imagine schoolkids doing so today. There have to be better and more meaningful ways to teach students about “values” than simply displaying a flag.

And to be honest, as a national symbol our flag is a bit of a lemon.

It has none of the elegant simplicity of a European tricolour, nor the vibrant energy of the new South Africa.

Rather, it has all the hallmarks of a committee decision, a cluttered compromise between imperial allegiance and geographical identity, with a white star thrown in to make sure people don’t think we are New Zealand. Even so, the presence of the Union Jack still convinces many foreigners that we are part of Britain.

Whatever its historical relevance, if Australia were looking for a symbol today to represent a mature and independent nation in the 21st century, you can’t imagine that anyone would win a competition with the Blue Ensign.

And yet, I don’t want to change it. I want to keep the design just as it is, because the great thing about our present flag is that it inspires ambivalence.

Sure, some people love to drape themselves in it, but just as many yearn for something more modern and relevant. And it’s this ambivalence and dissent about national symbols that is our greatest defence against jingoistic patriotism.

Not for us a sacred maple leaf, or the powerful inspiration of revolutionary red. I say let’s keep our silly old flag, and we might just avoid the excesses of nationalism that plague other countries.

As for singing the national anthem, time was when Australians regarded it as a point of honour that they didn’t know the words. It seemed the very essence of the laconic attitude that John Howard likes to say is part of the Australian identity. Nowadays, it’s like Stasiland. Any politician or sporting personality caught on camera not loudly and confidently declaiming the words is pilloried and abused.

And we are made it sing it all the time. At the football, for example, in the 1970s the national anthem was only played at the grand final – and then they only bothered to play half of it. No one sang, or if they did, we all thought they were tossers.

This year the national anthem will be played at 26 matches. Strewth. And when the band strikes up the tune, heaven help

any rebellious individual who doesn’t stand to fervent attention and sing lustily. They will get black looks – especially from overly patriotic year 11 students who have just written a compulsory civics essay on “What the Australian flag means to me”.

And no matter how loudly our seated dissidents barrack for their team, their fellow club supporters will spend the whole match suspecting they are in the company of covert revolutionary sleeper cell.

I don’t mind if my neighbours want to have a flagpole in the front garden, and prove their patriotism thereby. What worries me is that we seem to be getting to the point where my neighbour will mind if I don’t have a flagpole of my own, together with a national flag of a legislated minimum size, to be flown on prescribed occasions, etc.

Silly as it may sound, that’s what state schools around the country are facing, with the threat of funding being withheld unless they conform in the patriotic department.

I have always been proud of Australia as a tolerant nation, but that tolerance appears to be narrowing. I would like to think there remains a place in our public life for Australians who aren’t flag-waving patriots.

And to all of you who feel uneasy with the increasing display of nationalist chauvinism around the country I say, “Sit down, and be counted! It’s your democratic right in a tolerant, relaxed and comfortable nation!”

Martin Ball is a honorary research fellow at the Australian Centre at the University of Melbourne.

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