“What’s WCADM stand for, sir?” Miles Weiss asked.
“Workers’ Committee of, or for, I don’t know which off the top of my head, the Admiralty Dockyards of Malta.”
“Oh, of course. My word, odd how a little brush with industrial strife puts one in mind of what it was like back home in the good old days before the war? I suppose in those days we’d have called this a ‘wild cat strike’, what?”
Peter Christopher was not really listening.
He was looking at the vaguely familiar face of the stocky, smiling man with the tousled black hair who was orchestrating the chanting and seemed to be the leader of the striking workers. The chanting slackened in intensity as some of the men on the dock caught sight of the tall figure of Talavera’s youthful commanding officer.
Then others were pointing.
The chanting collapsed; only one or two voices desperately attempted to stir up the last dregs of flagging enthusiasm. The cheerleader turned and was a little surprised to find the destroyer’s captain striding down the gangway towards him.
“I was wondering when I’d bump into the famous Joseph Calleja?” The Englishman chuckled wryly as he stuck out his right hand in greeting to his prospective brother-in-law.
Joe Calleja was caught unawares and meekly extended his own hand to meet that of the taller man’s.
“I, er…”
“This is a thing, isn’t it?” Peter declared, taking off his cap and running his fingers through his thick fair hair. “I’ve met you father, of course, and I was rather hoping to be introduced to you at yesterday’s ceremonials?”
The shorter man glanced at his feet.
“I was banned from Parlatorio Wharf. Most of the other members of the Workers’ Committee, too…”
“Oh, that’s a bad show.” Peter Christopher sighed. Miles Weiss had joined him on the dock, no quite knowing what to make of things. His commanding officer made the necessary introductions. “Oh, this is Joe, Marija’s brother, Number One.”
“How do you do?” HMS Talavera’s Executive Officer inquired pleasantly, offering his hand in the same way Peter had moments earlier.
Again, to his discomfort Joe Calleja found himself taking his enemy’s hand in friendship.
“Goodness,” Peter groaned, “this is dashed awkward. In any other circumstances I’d have had you manhandled to the Wardroom to down a few stiff ones to, er, celebrate our first acquaintance, Joe. But…”
“I thought you’d have already gone ashore,” Joe Calleja confessed sheepishly.
“No, unfortunately I’ve got reams of paperwork to do first. We’ve been a bit short-handed since that business off Lampedusa. Poor old Miles,” he grinned at his Executive Officer, “and I doing two or three men’s jobs at present. Still, that’s the Navy; one does what one must do and all that. And now you and your chaps have put another spoke in the wheel. I promised Marija I’d try to get over to Mdina this afternoon. Obviously, that isn’t going to happen now.”
Joe Calleja shifted unhappily on his feet.
“Oh, no,” he muttered, looking past the two British officers.
Peter Christopher followed his look.
A dozen booted and baton-wielding Dockyard Policemen were marching purposefully towards № 2 Dry Dock.
“Those fellows look as if they mean business. What’s the form here?” He asked his soon to be brother-in-law.
“I don’t know. Admiral Christopher brought in a new Dockyard Superintendent yesterday.”
“Number One,” Peter suggested casually. “Would you be so good as to find out what those fellows are up to please?”
Miles Weiss hurried to intercept the newcomers.
Peter Christopher, knowing that he was standing within earshot of several of the striking workers leaned towards Joe Calleja. “As I say, this is dashed awkward. Meeting this way,” he almost whispered. “Nevertheless, it is as well that we understand each other from the off, what?”
The two men were edging away from the crowd.
Joe Calleja’s eyes were a little suspicious for a moment.
“I’m a fairly uncomplicated sort of chap,” Peter went on. “Life is complicated enough without making things any more complicated, that’s my motto. That said right now, as we stand here passing the time of day, there are three things which I need to tell you. I apologise in advance if any of those three things put your nose out of joint but well, life is like that sometimes and personally, I try not to hold grudges. But that’s just me, Joe.”
“Three things?”
“Firstly, you and your chaps have just downed tools repairing the latest battle damage to my ship in a time of war. That is irresponsible and frankly, not clever…”
“What about the jobs of my members?”
“I’m happy to argue about that at another time. Today I am Her Majesty’s Ship Talavera’s Captain and frankly, I don’t care. You chaps are either on our side or you’re not. That’s not a thing we need to argue about because you either are or you are not. On my side, that is. The proof, as it were, is in the pudding!”
Peter glanced down the dockside to where Miles Weiss had halted the advance of the police detachment but was now engaged in an animated discussion with the suited foreman who seemed to be in charge of the men in uniform.
“Secondly, the equipment your chaps left blocking my passageways and generally making my ship look untidy is presently being collected and securely stowed away by the Master at Arms. As per War Emergency Admiralty Dockyard Regulations any tools, equipment or materials left unattended or unsecured on one of Her Majesty’s Ships in a theatre of war, as defined by the said act, is forfeit and shall henceforth be treated as prize. That is, it may be sold to the highest bidder with the funds thus garnered being paid back into the coffers of HM Treasury.”
“Nobody’s ever…”
“Yes,” Peter agreed affably. “Well, obviously, we’ll have to leave the niceties to the lawyers. I’m just a humble sea dog, Queen’s Regulations are what they are and I am bound to follow them. Sorry, I can be very stubborn sometimes.”
Joe Calleja tried and failed to scowl.
“So can Marija!” He warned.
“Which brings me to my third point. Instead of tidying away my desk ahead of shipping Talavera’s files ashore this afternoon, I find my plans for the rest of the day up in the air and at some stage later today Marija is going to start worrying about why her fiancé has failed to make an appearance.”
Miles Weiss returned.
He jerked his thumb back over his shoulder.
“Those fellows want to lock Mr Calleja’s ‘troublemakers’ out of the yards, sir.”
Joe Calleja visibly bristled at the new threat.
Peter cleared his throat.
“Bloody Hell!” He complained, his exasperation barely contained. “I’m never going to get ashore at this rate!”
This was Miles Weiss’s cue to hurl an accusative look at Joe Calleja.
“What am I supposed to do about it?” Marija’s brother protested.
HMS Talavera’s Executive Officer briefly lost his temper: “Get back to bloody work, you idiot!”
Peter Christopher was afraid the other two men would come to blows.
He put a hand on Joe Calleja’s shoulder.
“May I have a chat with your workers please, Joe?”
The smaller man felt as if he ought to object; in the end he mutely acquiesced.
“Look, chaps,” Peter began. “I’m a new boy when it comes to what goes on here. I don’t know anything about your grievances, or how much substance there is in your fears for your jobs when it comes to the newcomers who are being shipped out here from the United Kingdom. There is probably a time and place to talk about these things but this isn’t it. I am the Captain of a damaged ship and I need you to repair her so that I can take her to sea again in defence of these beautiful islands. I need you to do that now please.” He waved at the policemen poised to eject the strikers from the dockyard. “Stop messing around and go back to work and I will deal with those fellows.” He sniffed the cool spring air. “Thank you for listening.”