大象传媒

This is based on a true incident. My father was a Tyne salmon fisherman before the war and knew all of the fishermen concerned. The whole town knew about it but it went no further. It will be obvious, reading the story, that I have dramatised it somewhat. For instance I believe the killing actually took place in North Shields.

It is not a pretty story but neither was WW11

* * *

Some things that happened during the war were hushed up, my father told me one day. For instance,one day when German fighters attacked our fishing boats in the North Sea - legitimate enough, I suppose but it seemed a bit unsporting, bullying , if you like.

Well, one day the South Shields lads were out with their nets when a Messerschmidt arrived, picked out one boat and, coming in low, as they told me afterwards, strafed the deck. He caught one of the lads right in the back and you should see what those bloody great bullets can do. On the other hand, perhaps you shouldn't, he caught himself, remembering this friend.

"The amazing thing," he enthused, "was that the lads got the bugger!" They got him with one bloody little Pom-pom as he tore overhead at nearly 400 knots!

They pulled the pilot out of the sea, unharmed except that he was bloody cold and wet. Do you know? asked Dad, shaking his head, he was still flaming cocky, still standing erect despite a bad thigh wound.

"So," he hissed, refusing the brandy offered by the skipper, "so, you are very lucky to get one of us but it doesn't matter. Eventually we will get you ALL!"

Well, if it wasn't for poor old Danny, lying in the hold, they would have laughed but instead felt a shiver, as if they had captured something not quite human.

When they arrived at the Pierhead, it was as if the whole town was there and probably was. Danny's widow was near the front and the news had had time to hit her. She was leaning on her mother and screaming with grief.

The pilot stood on the bridge with the skipper, by now accepting the brandy. "A toast," He yelled, somewhat immoderately, "A toast to our final victory!" Danny's wife, most certainly thinking of Danny, lying there in the ice among the cod, screamed obscenities at him and spat in his direction.

"Bitch!" Shouted the pilot and stuck his middle finger up in a universal gesture of contempt. At that, the mate, who had so far said nothing, pulled out an eight inch, razor-sharp gutting knife amd slashed the pilot straight across the throat with it, at the same time grabbing his hair and pulling back his head to facilitate the blow.

The pilot slumped to the deck, bubbles coming from the wound and strange, wet noises issuing from his mouth. The skipper knelt beside him, eventually closing his eyes with his fingertips.

"What was he trying to say?" someone queried.

"It sounded, said the skipper, "like Mutti. Anyone kow what that means?"

I asked my father what happened to the mate. Nowt, he replied, never even got in the papers.

Years later I realised that 'Mutti' means 'Mother'.

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