Tag: The Dart

Ted’s Letter To Jim…Part Two

Red JewelAvailable on Amazon.com or Amazon.ca

Ted’s Letter To Jim – Part Two

(Part One was posted 28 July)

“….Yet I was a product of the times Jim. I was reared in a depression but
loved and raised by very simple people who were honest, hardworking
folks. They depended on their faith in God and each other for their
well being and their sense of belonging and their strong sense of
community. Patriotism and love of country, of God, were not the false
ideals or beliefs that the young people of today view as archaic, old
fashioned and irrelevant. You could depend on your neighbor or even
a stranger to do what was right. Their sense of decency was instilled
upon us. So, you can imagine how we felt when Pearl Harbor was
attacked without provocation. It was our call to action, a collective
alarm to grow up. Grow up in a world that was extremely dangerous.
Perhaps we were naïve in believing that everyone in this world was as
principled as we were and had the same values and beliefs as we did.
In that sense, Pearl Harbor was our wakeup call.

Before he continued on, Jim paused to reflect on Ted’s words for a
moment.

Saipan changed my life forever Jim. It may have a profound impact
on you too. I can’t say for sure. I don’t know. Unfortunately for me
Saipan will forever be associated with death. It will forever be the
harbinger of the sheer terror of a Banzai attack by four thousand
hysterical Japanese soldiers coming down at you intent and bent on
one thing only…your demise…your death.

“Holy shit, Ted.”

“…or the horror of having to kill your enemy…a young man just like
you…at such close quarters as to be able to sense and feel his palpitable
heartbeat and hyperventilating breath on your face or the sweat of
his fear in your nostrils…or to see the lifeblood drain out of another
human being with just a single bayonet thrust and one pull of a trigger:
to see the light of his eyes extinguished forever…or to be responsible
for the deaths of ten little Chamorro school girls due to some reckless
miscalculation in combat…or to witness a mass suicide at the Marpi
cliff s of hundreds of faceless Saipan islanders for no other reason than
a falsehood perpetrated by the Japanese lie of American atrocities and
barbarism. No, no one should ever have to experience what I went
through on Saipan Jim. Nobody. That is why I could never return
there after the war. The memory of the place is haunting. It exerts a
pall and a pox over me whenever I think about it.”

“Christ Ted. I wouldn’t have known”

“You may think of me as being dead emotionally Jim after an experience
such as Saipan but you would be wrong. I am not. In spite of all of
the atrocities, death and suffering I witnessed or was a part of during
the Battle of Saipan a simple gesture of kindness and understanding
saved my soul. As I lay there in the field hospital recovering from the
amputation of my leg, feeling sorry for myself, a young Chamorro boy
came to me and touched me with his small, delicate fingers. As he
did so, an overwhelming sense of peace enveloped me. It was as if he
was trying to tell me, telepathically, through his touch, that all was
forgiven and that everything was going to be just fine.

“This young boy was or is named Shoichi Mizutani, Jim.”

“Nooo.”

“He is the son of Akira and Mariko Mizutani.”

“No way Ted? No way. I can’t believe it.”

Chills ran up and down Jim’s spine. The hair on the back of his neck
stood up. He continued to read. Tears began to form.

“They were the family I saved from certain death from a thrown
Japanese grenade. That is how I lost my leg Jim. When you told me
of your plans to visit Saipan on your sail with Nigel and stay with
a Mr. Mizutani I could not believe it. After all of these years his life
was coming back into mine…indirectly perhaps…through you, but
a reconnection nevertheless. Accordingly, I felt a strong impulse to
relate my experiences to you. I had to. If you meet Shoichi I want you
to thank him with all of my heart for his simple gesture of kindness
and forgiveness for me. I want you to tell him that that simple gesture
saved me from a life of trauma, anxiety and nightmares.
You see Jim it was through Shoichi that I was forgiven. It was
through him that I was saved…from myself. I was born again.”

“Oh my God, Ted.”

“So, there you have it Jim, my war story. It is one that I have never
told anyone except my dearly departed wife who died of cancer in
1972. I am telling you all of this because I have detected a kindred
spirit in you. You are sensitive, observant of your fellow man, kind
hearted and vulnerable. Consequently, like me, you will probably
experience many setbacks and disappointments over the course of
your life because of your nature but do not fret. These are strengths
Jim. Believe you me. They are gifts, gifts from God himself. Have
faith in yourself, your own ability and how you treat your fellow man.
A strong character will never let you down.

“That is all I have to say Jim. It was a pleasure knowing you. I hope
to see you again soon.”

God bless you.
Sincerely, Aye
Ted Culp
Bremerton, Washington,
Ala Wai Marina, January 1974

Jim was dumbfounded by what he read.

Red Jewel: The Dart

 

Red Jewel

 

An excerpt from “Red Jewel.” It is available on Amazon.com or Amazon.ca.

Classic sailing yacht

 

“Ruth and I grew closer and closer as the months turned into years. Often times we would go out on the Dart in “Lilly” and explore the area stopping from time to time on a bank of cool grass upriver a way. We talked…erm…she talked of many things.  She was a young woman now. Gone were the boyish locks. Her hair now fell to her shoulders, fashionably coifed with natural curls that were interspersed and intertwined within wave upon wave of strawberry blond tresses that were particularly radiant in the afterglow of a late afternoon sun. Her complexion was flawless and was all the more exotic and welcoming by just a hint of makeup. She was naturally beautiful. Well proportioned, athletic, strong. Her breasts were mature and full, not large, just perfect for her physical size.  She had her mother’s eyes I was told. Hazel green for the most part with the slightest touch of grey and an intimation of violet if the sunlight graced her features just so. You could almost detect the coloured hint of violet in a surprise reflective measure of sunlight only to lose sight of it on closer inspection.

“Whaaaat” she would say, teasingly, as my gaze burrowed into her eyes.

“Your eyes Ruth.” I thought they to be green, hazel perhaps, but just then I could detect some violet. Violet, for heaven’s sake?”

“My eyes are green Nigel Filtness.” she laughed as if she needed to scold me, turn me straight. “Maybe a tad hazel but green predominantly.”

Predominantly…predominantly? She had a better way with words than I will ever have. Her diction and enunciation were precise, flawless really, unlike the guttural slang that came out of my mouth. I was intimidated by her yet she never belittled me.

“I like you Nigel Filtness.” she would announce, as if she was my queen and I her peon…jester. “King….Nigel”, never the Queen. I may be female but I would be KING of all of England, and Wales, maybe Scotland, Ireland perhaps. No, no never Scotland as I can never understand the brogue there.” She giggled. “But Ireland? Ah, the land of song, poetry, romance and tragedy. Oh forlorn and suffering, tragic Ireland be: the Emerald Isle.

“Ireland?” I would ask of her as I lay on my back, my eyes closed, the sun high in the sky but on with its western slide.

“Yes Ireland Nigel” she sat there, smiling, as if pleased with her own insight, sitting as she was with her legs flat out across the grass in front of her with her arms back and to her sides holding her up. “Yes Ireland Nigel, the land of Yeats, of Shaw, of Oscar Wilde…”

“Oh the “poofter” I interjected.

Not saying a word she looked down at me with a scorn that could mortally wound.

“Of Oscar Wilde, Joyce, Michael Collins…” she paused and sighed a long passionate sounding sigh…of the revolutionaries, 1916 Ireland with Padraigh Pearse…”

“Who?” I countered.

“Padraigh Pearse Nigel. Padraigh was an Irish romantic: a poet, scholar, barrister, revolutionary of the 1916 Irish Rebellion. He was a tragic figure – a naive Irish ideologue hero. He was executed as one of the Irish rebels of the Easter Riots.”

“Oh, you don’t say” was about all I could say. I felt extremely low intellectually whenever I was with Ruth.

Nevertheless Ruth and I became inseparable. “Lilly” and “Lillian” were our common thread; our common bond; and our common love for sailing. Soon, the intricacies of Lillian’s unique gaff rig configuration became second nature to both of us. We knew “Lillian’s” quirks like the backs of our palms. It was not long before Mr Sommers had full confidence in both of us. And before long it was not an unusual sight for the Dartmouth and Kingswear sailing community to recognize us both for what we were: respected local seafarers. “Lillian,” and us, became synonymous with the regulars of the sailing community, particularly those members of the Royal Dartmouth Yacht Club, of which Mr Sommers was a lifetime member, as an icon of the Dart maritime environment. Even the Royal Naval College took note of us, particularly Petty Officer Brand.”

It was fun researching and writing this book. Sailors and non sailors alike will enjoy this story.

Quote of the week!

What happens when banks lose your money?

They charge you a finder’s fee of course.

Shakeyjay is out.