(Continued from last week))

“You might as well take it,” said the seaman. “I don’t need it.” “Take it anyway”, he urged. “You might need it later on.” She went back and picked it up.A long slide down a lifeline laid in front her and a handbag she thought would be a nuisance, but she could scarcely leave it behind her now. An idea struck her; she could pin it to her skirt.
As she stepped on the rail she saw a sight which suddenly made her pause. Two clear lights, similar to those of an airplane, were moving across the sky.
“Look” she said to the seaman holding her arm. “Yes, I know,” he said. “Don’t take any notice; it’s all part of their game.”
Elsewhere “moving lights” were seen crossing the sky, at or about the same time. In 5a, there was a shout of “Airplanes!” And looking up stewardess Macleod saw two “clear lights” moving in the sky, obscured now and then by cloud. “They’re coming to our rescue,” said someone.
In Mrs. Arthur cook’s boat the appearance of these “lights” caused a mild panic. “They’re Germans come to bomb us,” shouted someone and a woman broke into hysterics.
Barbara Bailey watched while the lights moved across the sky and vanished. Were they the navigation lights of a German plane, or of a Coastal Commanding aircraft, or just hallucination? It is anybody’s guess. The lights remained an unexplained mystery.

HE TUGGED IMPATIENTLY
The seaman was tugging impatiently at Barbara’s arm. “My skirt’s too tight” she said. It was going to be difficult to slide down a lifeline with it. If it were simply a question of skirt or safety, this was not the time for false modesty.

“Would you rip it for me?” she asked the seaman. He stared at her for a moment in astonishment. Then with a grin he caught hold of the skirt and pulled. The cloth split.
With her skirt split like a Chinese cheongsam, Barbara Bailey let herself down the lifeline. All went well until her feet touched the ledge at the Plimsoll line. She paused for a moment, before deciding to let go and jump on the boat, but a wave suddenly swept the boat away from her.
As she hung there waiting for it to ride in again, the old despair gripped her. Here she was dangling from the end of the rope, the Atlantic waves licking only a few feet from her. It could easily be the end.
She let her feet slip from the ledge, her hands still clinging to the rope. Where was the boat now? “I might as well jump and finish it, anyway, she thought.
Then a pair of hands gripped her ankles and somebody shouted: “Come on, you’re doing fine.” She let go and dropped safely into the boat.
Hero of the port-side launchings was deck steward MacKinnon, who tried to make the whole operation seem like a jolly outing to the women and children queuing up. “All aboard the next boat for Rothesay,” he kept shouting cheerily as he helped them in…

(To be continued next Sunday)