Chapter One
You can be happy some of the time, you can be miserable some of the time, but mostly, the best we can wish for is to be somewhere in between most of the time.
These were the profound words of Dylan Harwood, his best friend, on their graduation day from Trinity College, Dublin.
Liam would go off to who knows where or who knows what, but one thing was for sure - he would be positioned somewhere in the Cassidy business empire. Dylan, well, Dylan was a staunch monarchist and wanted a military career in the glorious British Army, serving his King and country. He determined to race off and join the Irish Guards, his father’s old regiment, and see action before it was all over. Eight weeks later, before the shine had even dulled on his Subalterns pips, his body lay deep in the stinking mud of a battlefield, somewhere in the Somme Valley, only 21 days before the armistice. He saw the action he craved so much, and his friend hated him for it.
That was nearly eight years ago, but now and then, Liam would reflect on what could have been and the happy times he and Dylan had planned to enjoy together. No tears to wipe away, though, for Liam had given that up many years before, hardening his heart to the realities of the world.
As he sat staring down Lockhart Road, the word ‘Opportunity’ jumped into his head, and another of his friend’s often repeated sayings. His friend who would never reach his 22nd Birthday:
Opportunity is a strange occurrence, Liam. Some of us have it thrust upon us, and you and I, being from wealthy families, are more likely to have that happen than most. So, we had better not miss it when it happens. Some have luck in their lives, and an opportunity presents itself from time to time. Some grasp it, some don’t even recognise it when it happens to them, but we, Mr Liam Cassidy, my friend, we shall create our opportunities. So, learn to look for it; recognise it when you see it and grasp it with both hands. Once I win this war, you and I, my dear chap, will go on an adventure, travel the world, and seize every opportunity together.
Liam smiled and thought, what a strange thing for Dylan to say on our last evening together.
*
Hong Kong - August 1926
The sights, the sounds, and the smells of Wan Chai at night were like nothing he had experienced anywhere else in the world, and he loved it. It was one of his few happy places.
He had travelled most of the world in six years and was no stranger to Hong Kong, but the rapidly changing environment he found himself in always made him feel like he was visiting for the first time.
With the sun sinking lower in the west, directly behind him, he stared ahead down Lockhart Road at the slowly changing kaleidoscope of colours as the market stalls were folded and disappeared almost as one into the alleyways between each building only to be replaced by the food stalls.
When the sun finally gave its last flicker, the colourful Chinese lanterns and a growing number of neon signs came to life. Within minutes the bar girls, in their colourful cheongsams, would show themselves in the doorways of the girlie bars. Here, they would wait patiently in full expectation of yet another profitable night. Their customers were invariably the British servicemen who poured off their ships berthed at HMS Tamar, the Royal Navy’s main base for Hong Kong or the army’s Prince of Wales Barracks nearby.
He always came to the same street restaurant at the top of Lockhart Road. It was one of the few that seemed to have a permanent location, albeit nothing more than an alcove under a Chinese trading company’s office. Here was where the cooking happened. At twilight, the proprietor, and others, who appeared to be his family, set up folding camp tables and chairs in the street, ready to serve their most delicious, purely Cantonese cuisine.
Liam didn’t know the proprietor’s name despite having been here more than a dozen times in the last few years; they just recognised each other. He didn’t know the actual address either – as with many other places in Hong Kong; he just knew where it was.
Next door was a larger store with the Chinese trading company’s name over the doorway, inside of which were stacked hundreds of cane barrel baskets with bamboo handles, each filled to the brim with exotic herbs and spices, the smell of which was a gourmet’s delight. Maybe that was why he enjoyed this location. If it weren’t the herbs and spices’ pleasant scent, it was the smell of the hot food in front of him, but more often than not, depending on which way the breeze was blowing, those aromas would be rudely interrupted by the waft of rotting garbage. Wanchai was never a dull place!
Here he could relax and clear his head, often thinking of the past but only the good memories, of which there were sadly few. He remembered fondly his old geography master, who had previously lived in the Far East and introduced him to many travel books while at boarding school. These travel books were his escape from the harsh reality of the draconian discipline of Clouther House, and he would spend many happy hours escaping into his world and dreaming of the mystical Far East. Now he was living those dreams.
When his father finally and unexpectantly allowed him to leave home to join one of the family’s ships, he immediately fell in love with travel and, of course, gravitated towards the Far East. Perhaps because of the way of life here in the Far East, which contrasted so much with the privileged life he had grown up accustomed to in a wealthy family environment in Ireland.
In this part of Hong Kong, that he knew so well, no one was wealthy, and poverty showed its face on the streets, but surprisingly, in a strange way, everyone seemed content with their lot in life, if not totally happy – maybe they were just in that in-between place often talked about by Dylan.
Was he happy? he asked himself, quickly realising that, yes, here in his mystical Far East, indeed he was.
Most Asian people he had encountered so far had a calming, almost philosophical way about them and readily accepted their lot in life. They just got on with life and made what they could of it. He admired that – envied it perhaps.
‘Back again, I see,’ came the thick Scottish accent, which somehow didn’t seem out of place, for Hong Kong was very much a Scottish town, transplanted in the Far East. In fact, more than fifty per cent of the bureaucracy was Scottish. Perhaps this was due to Jardine and Mathieson’s domination, the two Scots who engineered the Opium Wars, resulting in Hong Kong’s annexation to the British Government in 1842. The leasing of the so-called New Territories would come much later.
Liam looked up and smiled.
‘Inspector McCallum. Good to see you again.’
‘Mr Cassidy, isn’t it? I got that right, didn’t I?’ replied the young Police Inspector, offering his hand.
‘You did.’
‘Cassidy Shipping, if my memory serves me well,’ said the Inspector.
‘Correct,’ replied Liam.
‘I was over in Mongkok a few weeks back, relieving a sick colleague. I didn’t see any of your ships at the Cassidy Shipping pier, though. All occupied by Ben Line ships.’
‘Yeah, we’ve only got the Galway Bay out here right now. The others are back in Europe,’ said Liam, trying to give the impression that Cassidy Shipping owned a more extensive fleet of cargo vessels rather than only six.
‘I see,’ replied McCallum.
‘Did you enjoy Mongkok?’ asked Liam. ‘It would be a good break from here.’
‘Bored to death,’ said the young Scot.
Liam laughed.
‘So, has anything new happened since I was here last?’
‘Not really,’ said McCallum. ‘It’s still the same old quiet place during the day and the hot cauldron of sex, debauchery and drunken servicemen at night. Oh, we did have some fun last month, though.’
‘What was that?
‘We had an American Battleship in port, the USS Chicago and needless to say, as soon as the American sailors hit the street, the British servicemen, navy, and the army stopped fighting each other and got stuck into the Americans, comrades in arms once again. However, it got a bit nasty when the Royal Navy’s Shore Patrol became slightly overzealous with some American sailors.’
‘That wouldn’t go down well.’
‘Not well at all,’ said McCallum. ‘Standard procedure is for the RN’s SPs to call in the Yank’s own SP’s, but we have one particular RN Petty Officer who is a ruthless little shit quite frankly, and as usual, he went too far.’
‘So, did the American SPs arrive?’ asked Liam, becoming intrigued by the young Inspector’s story.
‘Oh, they certainly did,’ said McCallum.
‘Settled it down, did they?’
‘Not quite,’ replied McCallum, smiling broadly. ‘The RN Petty Officer got a bit carried away with his authority and started to berate the American Petty Officer only to get a smack in the mouth for his trouble.’
‘Sounds well deserved,’ said Liam, smiling.
‘Oh Aye, well deserved indeed, but that triggered an all-in brawl between the two Shore Patrols, to the absolute delight of every serviceman in the bar, of both nationalities, I might add. It would appear while they don’t like each other very much, they hate all Shore Patrols even more, whichever nationality they are.’
‘Now that would have been worth seeing,’ said Liam, laughing.
‘Oh, it was fun alright,’ said McCallum, now also laughing. ‘The trouble was we were called in and had to try to keep the two sets of SPs apart.’
‘Jeez! They would have paid for that.’
‘Oh, I think the yanks did but not the RN boys.’
‘Why?’ asked Liam.
McCallum looked a bit hesitant but then leaned forward and said softly, ‘We were all a bit confused as well, but rumour has it the RN Petty Officer
has a few senior officers in his pocket.’
‘He sounds like a real bastard.’
‘That’s too nice a word for him,’ said McCallum. ‘Keep an eye out for him if you’re going into any of the bars tonight and stay well clear.’
‘Thanks for the tip,’ said Liam.
‘You’re welcome,’ said McCallum. ‘Well, duty calls. Have a good night, Mr Cassidy.’
‘You too, Inspector,’ said Liam, as they shook hands, and McCallum walked off to join his four Chinese constables who were dutifully waiting for him.
Liam ordered another plate of chilli beef and an icy cold beer and sank back into his thoughts.
That afternoon, dressed in his newly tailored uniform, he had met with his shipping agent at the plush Peninsula Hotel over on Kowloon side. It was indeed plush, but Liam had always thought that he might as well have been sitting in the Savoy Hotel in London. He didn’t come all this way to the Far East to live a European lifestyle. He knew where he preferred to be, and usually, as the sun began to drop over the horizon of Lantau Island, he would gravitate towards Wan Chai.
He sat mesmerised again, looking down Lockhart Road at the milling masses of Chinese street vendors now interspersed with a mixture of Europeans. The road was lined on either side by three and four-story buildings.
They were each built in the Classical Georgian style, with their ground floors set back from the road to allow for deep, high ceilinged arcades that acted as shelters from the rain during the Monsoon season and as shelters from the burning sun during the day. In front of each building ran an open, three feet wide by four feet deep stormwater channel, all of which filled in seconds once the downpours started. They seemed to work well as they carried the floodwaters along and down to the water’s edge, spewing into the harbour, accompanied by the tons of garbage accumulated since the previous downpour.
As he sipped another mouthful of beer, followed by a burp and the occasional hiccup caused by the spicy chilli beef, his friend Danny arrived.
From childhood, Danny O’Connell was Liam’s friend, growing up on the Cassidy estates as the son of the stable master, each from the opposite side of the tracks, but friends, nonetheless.
He was a tall, stocky man with a barrel chest, a man you wouldn’t willingly take on in a fight and, as his red hair hinted, a temper to go with it. On the other hand, his friend Liam was tall and had a handsome look about him. He had a calm, dignified, almost aristocratic bearing and was blue-eyed, with sandy coloured hair that went virtually blond when he had been in the tropical sun for several months.
Liam was brought out of his trance by a hand waving in front of his face.
‘Talking to Dylan again, were you?’
Liam looked up at his friend and just smiled.
‘Into the red chilli’s again, I see,’ said the big Irishman, who stood a good three inches above Liam.
‘Oh, you can see that, can you?’ responded Liam.
‘See it. I can bloody well hear it,’ said Danny. ‘You always belch when you eat those bloody things, then it’s followed by five minutes of hiccups. You’re very predictable, you know, mate.’
‘Am I indeed,’ said Liam, smiling. ‘So, where have you been for the last hour?’
‘Just went for a walk to reconnoitre the scenery,’ replied Danny.
‘And?’ asked Liam.
‘There’s a new bar around in Jaffe Road called the Cockatoo Bar. An Aussie runs it. We should check it out later.’
. ‘Sounds like a good plan,’ said Liam, ‘but first, more food. I’m still starving. Come on, mate, get a couple of beers into you, and eat something. That Chilli beef stir-fry I had was delicious. We can head on over to the Cockatoo Bar after we’re finished.’
Liam shared the young Police Inspectors story with Danny, and thirty minutes later, they elbowed their way through the crowd of sailors and ordered a bucket of eight iced beers, the house’s speciality, from the Aussie owner.
‘I’ll bring it over to you,’ said the Aussie. ‘You’ll find some tables over near the back door.’
A few minutes later, the beer arrived.
‘Merchant Navy, right,’ said the Aussie.
‘Yeah, that’s right,’ said Liam. ‘Liam Cassidy and this is Danny O’Connell.’
‘Nice to meet you fellas, my name’s Callaghan, Jack Callaghan,’ said the Aussie, as he shook their hands.
‘A fellow Irishman then,’ said Danny.
‘No mate, I’m Australian and proud of it. Fifth-generation Irish-Australian, but I’m a dinky-di Aussie.’
‘How come you ended up here in Hong Kong?’ asked Liam.
Jack smiled. ‘I did a stint with the Light Horse in Palestine during the big flap. On the way home, the ship stopped in Singapore. I went ashore, promptly got pissed and missed the ship. I spent a few years knocking around Singapore, then up in Kuala Lumpur, then Bangkok and finally made my way here. Never did get home.’
‘They didn’t pick you up then?’ asked Danny. ‘The authorities, I mean.’
‘They weren’t interested, even when I tried to hand myself in to the Poms in Singapore. They just sent me packing,’ said Jack.
‘Poms,’ queried Danny?
‘English,’ responded Liam. ‘Aussies call Englishmen Poms.’
‘So, you’ve been running bars like this all that time, have you?’ asked
Liam.
‘Shit, no!’ exclaimed Callaghan. ‘No, this is my first one. It sounded like a good idea at the time, but now, who knows.’
‘So, the novelty has worn off,’ said Danny.
‘Something like that,’ said Callaghan smiling.
‘What did you do before this, Jack?’ asked Liam.
I worked for a shipping agent in Bangkok, and then five years ago, they moved me here to Hong Kong. My job was in procurement, which meant I found exporters with cargo and negotiated contracts with the shipping companies on our books. I did alright at it for years, but then last year, the company went broke. So, my choices were either I go back to Australia, or If I wanted to stay here in Hong Kong, which I do, I had to find some way of generating an income. I had a bit of cash, so I bought it when this place became available.
‘So, where is your ship berthed?’ asked Jack.
‘Over Kowloon side,’ said Liam, ‘up Mongkok way.’
‘In that case, don’t miss the last Star Ferry over to Tsim Sha Tsui. It goes at midnight. The next one is not until six in the morning. Failing that, you’ll need to get a Gai Doh or a sampan.’
‘Thanks for the tip,’ said Liam, ‘but I think we’re up for a big night out.’
‘Okay,’ said Jack. ‘Let me know if you need anything else - beer, whisky, girls!’
‘Thanks,’ replied Danny. ‘We’ll let you know.’
‘Oh, and by the way, the Shore Patrol will drop in later tonight, sometimes two or three times. Look out for them. They’re all Pommies, and there are some nasty bastards amongst them - one in particular. Just show them your Merchant Navy ID cards and say nothing,’ advised Jack.
‘Good advice. Thanks again,’ said Liam. ‘I think we’ve heard about him.’
‘Girls heh,’ said Danny.
‘You don’t need my permission if you want a girl,’ said Liam. ‘You’re big enough and ugly enough to make those decisions on your own.’
‘Not for me, mate,’ replied Danny. ‘It’s been a while, but I still can’t bring myself to go with a prostitute. Hell, they all look like children anyway. Some of them must be thirteen years old. It’s bloody ex, ex, what’s the word?’
‘Exploitation,’ assisted Liam.
‘That’s the word,’ said Danny. ‘Even if I found one older, knowing my luck, I’d probably end up with the clap.’
‘That’s always the risk,’ said Liam.
As the night progressed, the increase in the noise level and disorderly behaviour was directly proportional to the amount of alcohol consumed and by midnight, the first scuffles had started. Jack Callaghan watched the troublemakers like a hawk and swooped early to break up potential escalations in arguments.
Half an hour later, the singing had overtaken the arguments, and the Cockatoo Bar rang out with the sound of sea shanties, some harmless and some incredibly bawdy, but all in good fun.
As the last verse of a very lengthy rendition of ‘The Good Ship Venus’ came to an end, a hearty cheer went up. Liam looked at Danny, trying to decide whether he should order a third bucket of iced beer or whether he and Danny had reached their limit, but before he could make up his mind, the front doors burst open, and the first shore patrol of the night entered the bar.
Two sailors in their white uniforms and distinctive black armbands bearing the red letters SP stood holding the doors open as six more muscle-bound men rushed in, their truncheons at the ready. Three of them stood on each side of the door facing the other, forming a funnel to the door. As he entered the bar, Liam and Danny looked at each other and laughed. The man, wearing Petty Officer stripes and an SP armband on each arm, was at least a foot shorter than his colleagues and almost twice as broad.
‘All right, you drunken bastards, stand too and get your leave passes out for inspection,’ yelled the Petty Officer.
By now, the noise had dwindled to a grumbling hum as the SP’s did their rounds.
Jack Callaghan wandered over to Liam and Danny’s table.
‘That’s him. Name’s Higgins, Bert Higgins, an evil-tempered little shit if ever there was one - watch yourselves. Here he comes.’
Higgins gave Liam and Danny a cursory glance as he approached Jack.
‘Jack,’ he said, nodding.
‘Bert,’ replied Callaghan. ‘Any problems?’
‘Don’t know yet, Jack. Not sure if I should close you down or not. Can you think of any reason why I shouldn’t?’
‘Always happy to comply with the rules, Bert,’ said Callaghan, as he reached into his trouser pocket and produced an envelope, which he deftly squeezed into the Petty Officer’s hand.
‘Jeezus!’ exclaimed Danny. ‘Did you see that? The corrupt little prick.’
Liam looked at Danny in disbelief while Jack Callaghan lifted his head and rolled his eyes.
‘Who the fuck are you?’ demanded Higgins, in a heavy cockney accent?
‘We’re Merchant Navy,’ interjected Liam. ‘So, outside your jurisdiction, I would suggest.’
‘What did you say, ya bloody Irish bogtrotter?’ growled Higgins.
That was enough for Liam.
‘No one calls me an Irish bogtrotter, not the least an English bastard like you.’
‘We’ll see about that,’ said Higgins, raising his truncheon and swinging it at Liam’s head.
But for a slight nudge from Jack Callaghan, throwing Higgins temporarily off-balance, Liam would have taken the blow fully on his left temple. As it was, it only glanced the top of his head but still caused enough pain for him to call out. Before he knew it, Liam was grabbed by his shirt collar and manhandled out the back door into the alleyway with a strength that belied the diminutive Higgins’ size. Danny and Callaghan followed them outside quickly, Callaghan pulling the door closed behind him and locking it. No need to have the other SP’s lay into Liam, he thought. He knew Higgins would give him the beating of his life without any help.
As Liam hit the ground, the toe of Higgins’ steel-capped boot smashed into his ribs, landing with such force that he felt them crack. His hands automatically wrapped around his midriff to stave off another kick, but Higgins had reverted to his truncheon again and positioned it high for maximum impact. As he swung it down towards Liam’s head, a blow landed firmly on his right ear as Danny swung a punch as hard as he could. Higgins instinctively turned and swung the weapon at Danny’s head, hitting him across the lower jaw, sending him flying to the ground.
Jack Callaghan yelled for Higgins to stop the beating, but he knew from experience it didn’t pay to interfere too much with Higgins, who would immediately close his bar and, therefore, his only income source.
Higgins took no notice and swung again at Liam’s head, landing it squarely across his nose.
Recovering but still dazed, Danny looked around for a weapon and then he remembered the flick knife he had picked up that very afternoon at Temple Street markets, more out of curiosity than for any other reason. He had never seen one before. He reached inside his trouser pocket, produced it, and pressed the release button. The knife sprung open, but it was facing the wrong way, and the knife fell to the ground, slashing the palm of his hand as it did so. Ignoring the pain, Danny picked it off the ground and threw himself at Higgins. He intended to hold the knife at Higgins’s throat until he calmed down, and then they could both make a break for it, but just as he reached around Higgins’ right shoulder, the petty officer raised his arm, aiming another blow at Liam’s head. His arm caught the blade, forcing it against and into his neck. Higgins dropped his weapon and turned towards Danny, clutching his hand to his neck as the blood spurted out between his fingers. He stared briefly into Danny’s eyes with a combined look of curiosity and stark fear and then fell directly into a pile of rotting garbage.
Danny looked at Jack Callaghan with a confused expression.
‘Christ, mate, you’ve killed the little bastard,’ said Callaghan.
‘It was an accident,’ said Danny, the sound of panic in his voice. ‘I was just going to try and hold the knife to his throat to stop him.’
By this time, the remaining members of the shore party were banging on the back door.
‘I know, mate, I saw it, but they’re not going to accept that for an excuse,’ said Callaghan pointing at the back door. ‘Look, grab your mate and get the hell out of here. I’ll hold them off for as long as possible.’
‘Are you sure,’ asked Danny.
‘Yeah, I’m bloody sure, but first, clock me.’
‘What?’ asked Danny.
‘You heard me, punch me, you moron, as hard as you can. My story will be that you and your mate attacked Higgins and me. Now, will you bloody well do it and get the hell out of here?’
Danny leaned back and threw the hardest punch he could, sending the Aussie flying to the ground. Turning, he picked up a still dazed Liam, and they both ran as fast as they could towards the harbourfront, Liam struggling with the pain in his ribs.
Luckily, the Wan Chai waterfront at this time of the morning swarmed with sampans and Gai Doh’s, hoping to pick up a fare from the drunken merchantmen and Royal Navy sailors who staggered back from the bars and brothels.
Danny flagged a Gai Doh, and the boatman brought the boat alongside the wharf steps. He eased Liam onto the wooden cross thwart, under cover of the awning and well out of sight, and told the boatman to take them across the harbour to Tsim Sha Tsui.
As the Gai Doh chugged slowly away from the steps, Danny saw four Shore Patrol sailors in their white uniforms run onto the pier. He ducked down, taking Liam with him. Liam let out a grown as the pain shot through his ribs.
Danny looked at the boatman who had slowed the Gai Doh and seemed to be wavering. Looking first at his two passengers and then up at the four sailors on the pier. He was weighing up what decision would be most advantageous to him. Danny read him like a book, slipped his hand into his trouser pocket, and produced a wad of Hong Kong dollars.
The boatman smiled, revved the engine to top speed and steered away towards Tsim Sha Tsui.
Ten minutes later, the Gai Doh pulled up against a set of stone stairs some distance away from the main Star Ferry pier. Danny pushed a small wad of notes into the boatman’s hand that gave him around five times the going rate for a short trip like this.
In return, the boatman helped Danny get Liam off the Gai Doh and up the steep stairs to the street.
When they reached the top of the stairs and stepped onto the street, the heavens opened, and a colossal downpour drenched them. They raced as best they could to reach the shelter of the ground floor arcade on the other side of the road, which turned out to be the entrance arcade to yet another Jardine shipping office.
Danny knew he needed to get Liam to a doctor as soon as possible despite his friend’s bravado, saying he was fine.
Fifteen minutes later, the rain stopped as suddenly as it had begun, and the pair started to walk towards the lights of Nathan Road. Liam suggested they get one of the few motorised taxis in Hong Kong rather than struggle into a trishaw or rickshaw.
Liam knew of a taxi rank at the rear of the Peninsula Hotel, where he had had a meeting with Cassidy Shipping’s agent only that very morning.
Twenty minutes later, after a frustrating struggle through the endless line of trishaws, rickshaws, carts, and many other types of transport, they finally turned off Nathan Road and into Argyle Street. Danny carefully studied the street numbers, which were few and far between but eventually, he saw 23.
‘Stop here,’ he yelled at the driver.
‘Why are we stopping here?’ asked Liam. ‘I thought we were heading back to the ship.’
‘Soon enough, Liam,’ replied Danny, ‘but let’s get you looked at first.’
‘I’m fine,’ demanded Liam.
Danny looked at him with a stare that said it all – ‘You’ll do as I tell you.’
He paid the driver and asked him to wait until they came back out.
Danny opened the front door and entered the vestibule. He ran his finger down the list of names on the brass plaque on the wall and pressed the buzzer that read, Dr James Campbell.
Who is Dr James Campbell?’ asked Liam.
‘He is the doctor for the Ben Line, which means….’
‘Which means,’ interrupted Liam, ‘under the terms of our contract, Cassidy Shipping has access to him in the same way we have access to the Ben Line’s wharves in Hong Kong.’
‘Luckily for us,’ said Danny.
‘Luck had nothing to do with it,’ said Liam, ‘it was brilliant negotiating skills on my part.’
‘Of course, I should have known, and do you know what? Your incredible humility only matches those brilliant negotiating skills,’ said Danny sarcastically, knowing he was the only man who could get away with that sort of comment to his friend.
Liam looked at Danny and smirked.
A few seconds later, the stairwell light came on, and a young Eurasian man came down the stairs to meet them.
‘Mr O’Connell,’ said the doctor. ‘I didn’t expect to see you again so soon. Have you had a bad reaction to the vaccination I gave you this morning?’
Danny shook his head.
‘No, Doctor Campbell, but I’ve got another patient for you. Dr Campbell, meet Liam Cassidy.’
At that point, Liam eased himself further into the light.
‘Oh my god! My dear fellow, what on Earth have you done to yourself, or should I say, what has someone done to you?’
‘I fell down some stairs,’ replied Liam.
‘Sure, you did,’ said the doctor, and I’m the Moderator of the Church of Scotland.’
Liam fired a confused look at Danny.
‘Don’t worry, Mr Cassidy, I may look Chinese, but I’m only half Chinese. The other half is pure Scottish, or as my father used to say, I have been blessed by the best of both worlds. By the way, in case you are curious, my medical skills were gained at Edinburgh University and then finely honed in the illustrious halls of the Royal College of Surgeons. Now let us get you upstairs and have a look at your injuries.’
Almost half an hour later, Danny woke with a gentle tap on his shoulder.
‘Ah, Doc! Sorry about that, I must have nodded off,’ said Danny. ‘How is Liam?’
‘Your friend has taken quite a beating, Mr O’Connell, but he is a remarkably resilient individual. He has a badly bruised nose and a few cracked ribs, neither broken, thankfully. There is, however, extensive bruising on his torso. He’s going to be in pain for some time, but otherwise, it’s just a matter of time and lots of rest. Do you want to tell me what happened?’ asked the young doctor.’
‘Not really,’ said Liam as he wandered out of the surgery, pulling his blood-stained shirt over his shoulders, ‘but I would appreciate if you had a visit from the police or the shore patrol, you don’t mention this to any of them.’
‘Ah yes, of course, the Royal Navy’s infamous shore patrol,’ said the doctor. ‘You are not the first person I have treated courtesy of the shore patrol. Consider it forgotten – no more said.’
‘Thanks, Doc. How much do I owe you?’ asked Liam.
‘Oh, that’s fine, Mr Cassidy, I’ll just send the bill to your agent, will I?’ replied the doctor.
‘Ah, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t,’ said Liam. ‘Cash would be so much better if you don’t mind, Doc.’
‘I understand,’ said the doctor. ‘You sail tomorrow, anyway, don’t you?’
Liam smiled.
*
At 6 am prompt, the SS Galway Bay slipped her moorings and slid silently
eastward through Hong Kong Harbour, passing the lighthouse on Po Toi Island
on their starboard side by the half-hour mark.
At 7 am, the door of the sick bay opened.
Liam opened his eyes to find Captain Seamus O’Neill standing in the doorway, looking less than pleased.
Seamus O’Neill was a twenty-five-year veteran in the Irish Merchant Navy, fifteen of them in Cassidy Shipping’s employ, and the most senior and trusted Captain in the company.
He was not a big man, but he had an imposing stature that exhibited natural leadership.
‘So, Mr Cassidy. An explanation would be in order, don’t you think?’ said the Captain. ‘I awake this morning to find my Bosun carrying a bruise the size of a football on the side of his face and my First Mate in sickbay, hardly able to move.’
Liam forced himself to sit up on the side of the bunk, suppressing the pain as if to say to his Captain, he wasn’t as severely injured as the Captain thought.
‘Well, it wasn’t our fault, sir. We were set upon by a Royal Navy Petty Officer, who led a Shore Patrol,’ offered Liam.
‘And where was this?’ asked the Captain.
‘In a bar in Wan Chai,’ replied Liam.
‘Wan Chai,’ blurted Captain O’Neill. ‘How many times have I told you about Wan Chai.’
‘I know, sir, but I like the place. The food is great, and the atmosphere is exciting. You couldn’t get anywhere so different from Dublin.’
Captain O’Neill softened.
‘I know, son but not only are you, my Chief Officer and First Mate. You are also a Cassidy, the owner of this fleet. What would your father and brothers think of you if they knew you were getting into brawls in bars in Wan Chai like a common drunken seaman? Have you no shame?’
‘My father and my brothers couldn’t give a damn about me. Well, perhaps Sean does but not my father and most definitely not Robert,’ replied Liam.
‘That’s not true, Liam. Look, son, I know your brother Robert has an unfortunate way about him, but your father asked me personally the day before we left Dublin to join your first ship to look out for you and teach you everything I know about the sea and shipping. That is why you are now dealing with the shipping agents and organising new cargoes, and you’re good at that, son. Now, that’s not the actions of someone who doesn’t care.’
Liam groaned and shook his head.
‘How bad is it?’ asked the Captain.
‘Broken nose,’ said Liam, ‘but the ribs are not too bad. Only three cracked, and the rest just badly bruised. I should be fine in a few days.’
‘Take a few days to rest; then you can be on light duties, bridge duty only until we get into Pusan. We can only make 10 knots now until we can get the number two boiler fixed in Pusan. I still don’t believe they don’t have the right size copper plating in Hong Kong. Anyway, we have a nice easy five days,’ said O’Neill, as he started to close the door. ‘By the way, what caused the fight?’
‘He called me an Irish bogtrotter,’ replied Liam.
‘God, I hate that slur,’ said the Captain. ‘I hope you gave him one for me.’
‘Oh, I think we gave as good as we got,’ said Liam, smiling.
No need to let anyone know his friend had just killed a British Royal Navy Shore patrol Petty Officer, he thought.
Despite the Captain’s generous offer to take a few days to recover, Liam was back on the bridge within 24 hours, electing to take the easiest of the three watches, that being the four to eight watch. Slowly, his body started to heal itself while his friend Danny’s face had now turned a deep shade of purple, meaning he too was on the mend.
Just after two bells, at 5 pm, Danny wandered up to the wing of the bridge with two cups of hot, steaming sweet tea. The sea was like a sheet of glass as the two men stood there staring out to the horizon.
After ten minutes, Liam broke the silence.
‘Alright, Danny, spit it out. What’s on your mind?’
‘What’s on my mind? Jeezus Liam, I just killed a man.’
‘It was self-defence,’ said Liam, without hesitation. ‘If you hadn’t stopped him, he would have killed me.’
‘Yeah, I know, but we should have stuck around and explained what had happened. Callaghan would have stood up for us,’ replied Danny.
‘Yes, it’s more than likely that Callaghan would have vouched for us if I am any judge of character, he will have vouched for us by now, but Callaghan is an Aussie, not British and you and I, might I remind you, are two Irish bogtrotters. What British court is going to believe us?’ said Liam. ‘Forget it, mate. Nobody, but you and I, and Callaghan, of course, know what truly happened, so it’s over. Forget about it.’
‘Maybe you’re right,’ said Danny.
‘I know I’m right,’ replied Liam, ‘but one thing I know for sure.’
‘What’s that?’
‘There’s something fundamentally wrong with my fighting skills if a little runt like Higgins can beat me so badly and so easily. Your father taught us how to box when we were kids, Danny, but the Higgins’ of this world don’t fight in boxing rings and don’t abide by the Marquis of Queensbury rules. We’ve got to learn dirty fighting.’
‘How?’ asked Danny.
‘Don’t know yet, mate, but I’m working on it.’
