“Every time I look at you, you’ve got your head stuck in that damn book.”
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He lifted that head, and a very handsome one it was too. He grinned. The impossible grin. Blue eyes crinkling… twinkling…
“What do you see in it?”
“Jane’s Fighting Ships? It’s a classic.”
“Some reference book of warships? You have got to be kidding me.” He shrugged and looked back down at the book. I felt dismissed.
“You’ve been glued to it every minute of the day and night. For the past 3 weeks. Before work, after work, every mealtime - you don’t even talk any more. All you do is flip through those stupid pages.”
“Jealous?” he laughed.
“No. Not jealous. Worried. You’re hatching one of your ludicrous, crazy schemes, aren’t you?”
“Is there any more coffee?” he asked, and I fetched the jug from the kitchen to top up his mug.
We lived in a bright, light apartment in Singapore just a 15-minute drive from Orchard Road, the centre. My boyfriend had taken a job there the previous year. With a bank. It was a good job and he was very well paid. I worked for a re-location company - a steady business. Corporate expatriates were always on the move. Like ants.
After mid-west America, Singapore had been a shock. The spitting, the nose clearing, the cleaning of ears and plucking of mole hairs in the rearview mirror at traffic lights. But our taste buds relished the change. McDonalds and Kentucky Fried Chicken could not compare with the hawkers’ pungent and aromatic offerings of Mee Siam and Char Siew Fan.
But the biggest treat was the scuba diving. Tropical clear waters, no wet suits required. And such easy access! It was heaven.
I sat down opposite him, elbows on the table, both hands wrapped around my mug. Not for the warmth, of course. The temperature never dropped below 24 degrees – and that was at night. It was for comfort. “So? What’s this all about?” I asked.
He shut the book with a snap. Again, that grin. “I think we should go on a dive trip. East coast Malaysia. Do some diving like we’ve never done before. And honey? I know you love shells – so I’m gonna find you a very, very special one to add to your collection.”
One month later we’d driven over the causeway into Malaysia and were bobbing in the water as we clung onto the anchor line of the indigenous wooden dive boat we’d hired. The sky was grey and the sea was choppy. It was the beginning of the rainy season.
“So, they only have these special shells here?” I asked.
He adjusted his mask and grabbed the regulator floating by his shoulder. “There are other places… but it’ll be easiest to pick one up here.” He lifted a gloved fist and pointed his thumb down. I put my regulator in my mouth and began to let the air out of my buoyancy jacket. It was time to visit that other world below.
The first thing you’re aware of when you dive is your breathing. Because you’re restricted to the amount of air you’re carrying in the tank on your back, the last thing you want is to run out. That could be dangerous to your health and cause death. So I’d learned a simple technique to keep my breathing controlled and even. I’d slowly count to 5 as I breathed in, then to 5 again as I held my breath, to 5 again as I breathed out, and to 5 one more time before taking the next breath. Focusing on the breath like that is meditational… you hear the whoosh when you suck in and the whoosh when you blow out. It is rhythmic, calming and together with the weightlessness underwater, it makes you feel ethereal.
We descended head first down the anchor line and at about 10 meters swam through a thermocline of cold water. I shivered and continued the descent down the rope until a dark mass that was the remains of the British S-class destroyer HMS Thanet, loomed into view. This ship, built in 1919, together with the battleship HMS Prince of Wales, a battlecruiser HMS Repulse, and the Australian destroyer HMAS Vampire, had been sunk by the Japanese in World War II in 2 separate engagements near Kuantan, Pahang off the east coast of Malaysia. HMS Thanet lies in 20 meters of water at low tide and we were about to explore her and her surrounds.
Visibility was not that great. With the first rain comes silt channeled into the sea by the rivers and the murky water made the remains of the ship look ghostly. We finned past boilers and condensers, and as I glided through the silky water, a denser element than air, with the only sound being the whoosh whoosh of my breath, I felt like I was part of some slow motion movie. Then… as we approached the hull… we saw it. A single barrel 4-inch deck gun. The thing that defined this wreck for what it was. A warship.
We swam closer and my mind was bombarded with thoughts. How horrendous it must have been on this destroyer at the end. How frightening to be shot at and how brave the men were to keep loading that gun under fierce enemy fire as it kicked and bucked and launched its deadly missiles. I touched the barrel, barnacled and sea worn and looked up to where my boyfriend hovered, suspended above it like a skydiver. He was pointing behind me. I paddled the water with my hands to turn, and the next whoosh stuck in my throat. A shadow drifted towards us. No… not a shark… it was a grouper the size of a couch.
“So, what do you think of it?” he asked, holding it out in his jaundice-stained hands.
“It looks way heavier than I expected,” I replied, “but it’s absolutely beautiful.”
“You can use it as a paper weight,” he said, and presented me with the still pristine solid brass nose cone of a 4-inch British naval shell.
Having failed to disarm it the conventional way, he’d spent the past 3 hours cross legged, deep in the jungle with a bucket of water, carving through the casing with a hacksaw as the mustard coloured explosive, still live after all those years compressed in its watertight container, bubbled free and dribbled down the housing, staining his thighs.
“You do realise,” he said with that crinkle-eyed grin, “what’s so special about this shell?”
“That you’d have got the death sentence if they’d caught you bringing it into Singapore in the trunk of the car?” I said. “Or because it could have exploded when you were sawing off the nose cone?”
“No, not that,” he replied. “It’s because it made me into the only Caucasian male in Singapore with yellow balls.”
* * * * * * * *
J M Leitch - Biodata
When Mum picked me up after my first morning at primary school I was in tears. 'Whatever's the matter?' she asked. I spat out my words between heaving staccato sobs. 'YOU said I’d learn to read!’
It took much longer than I expected... but I did learn and I've not stopped reading since. I also learned to write and I published my first novel, a futuristic thriller The Zul Enigma, in 2011. (www.thezulenigma.com).
As to my background? Well, I was born just outside London, England, and moved to Asia where I've lived half my life. I now spend my time between Singapore, Assam in North East India, Bali in Indonesia and the UK.
In addition to reading and writing I enjoy hanging out with my family and friends. I love laughing and try to spend as much time doing that as I can. I think it keeps me healthy!
My hobbies are reading, tennis, pilates and travelling. I also enjoy good food and wine. Mmm...