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    The Raft / Socrates Asks Why
    The Raft / Socrates Asks Why
    The Raft / Socrates Asks Why
    Ebook86 pages1 hour

    The Raft / Socrates Asks Why

    By Eric Linklater

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    About this ebook

    Are the people of Britain capable of serving the new world, of writing with honour a new chapter of history? The answer, conclusively, is Yes.… But Socrates, in the third of the pieces, has still to be satisfied that the Allies are truly conscious of their purpose. A four-fold rule of law is not enough: the peace within that rule must not be an idle peace, but creative. If that is not explicitly our intention and desire, then why are we fighting?

    The Raft and Socrates Asks Why are imaginary conversations revolving around the political and military problems of WWII. The Raft is set in the mid-Atlantic, where six survivors from a torpedoed ship discuss the position of Britain and the difficulties and moral dilemmas of a soldier life.
    Socrates Asks Why is a conversation between Socrates, Voltaire, Johnson and Lincoln where the Allies' aim of peace and ending of the war is discussed and questioned.
    These conversations were first published in 1942.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBloomsbury Publishing
    Release dateJun 24, 2014
    ISBN9781448214327
    The Raft / Socrates Asks Why
    Author

    Eric Linklater

    Eric Linklater was born in 1899 in Penarth, Wales. He was educated in Aberdeen, and was initially interested in studying medicine; he later switched his focus to journalism, and became a full-time writer in the 1930's. During his career, Linklater served as a journalist in India, a commander of a wartime fortress in the Orkney Islands, and rector of Aberdeen University. He authored more than twenty novels for adults and children, in addition to writing short stories, travel pieces, and military histories, among other works.

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      Book preview

      The Raft / Socrates Asks Why - Eric Linklater

      The Raft

      A raft is floating on the Atlantic. The long swell lifts it, raising first one corner so that it lies steeply tilted, and the opposite corner dips into the sea. The water, with a flourish of white, runs along its lower side. The bodies on the raft begin to roll downhill, but they have been tied to the planking, and the ropes halt their movement abruptly. Then the raft is tilted in the opposite direction, and again the bodies move a little way, uneasily.

      The Atlantic is almost black, and the swell is ribbed with afresh wind, here and there white-bearded. The sky hangs low in dull and formless clouds. A shower of rain, swift and savage, runs over the sea and striking hard upon the raft, rebounds, from planking and bodies, in small crystal fountains. There is a break in the clouds, and the view enlarges. On the desolate circle of ocean there is nothing to be seen but the raft. It rises on a swell, and disappears into a darker gulf.

      There are six bodies on it. Two of them, on the sleeves of their sodden jackets, wear tarnished gold braid. One of them, very young, his lank hair a light gold, is a LIEUTENANT in the Royal Naval Volunteer Reserve. The other, also young but dark and thick-set, was SECOND MATE of the ship that has been torpedoed. Between them lies the tall figure of a STOKER. He is a very big man with enormous feet. He has tied a grey blanket round his shoulders, but one arm, thickly muscled, is naked to the wind.

      On the other side of the raft are a WIRELESS OPERATOR, a GUNNER, and a PASSENGER. The first, lightly built with sharp features, wears a black oilskin lashed tightly round his thin body. The GUNNER, in a dufflecoat and soldier’s khaki trousers, is the survivor of the crew of a twin-Lewis, the ship’s anti-aircraft armament. The PASSENGER, the oldest man there, in his middle forties, is hooded in a tartan travelling-rug buttoned into a dark civilian greatcoat.

      Between these six men, so different in many ways, there is one close resemblance. They are in the borderland between life and death, and they wear a look of peace. Their minds have been released from pain, and their thoughts make conversation.

      PASSENGER

      I felt the rain. I don’t think I shall feel anything more.

      WIRELESS OPERATOR

      I felt nothing.

      GUNNER

      Nor I.

      LIEUTENANT

      Yes, it was rain. The last time I sailed a race, in the summer before the war, there was a rain-squall like that as we rounded the buoy for the last leg to windward. A summer squall, but fierce and blinding. I was third across the line, but I won on handicap.

      STOKER

      It was raining when I left Liverpool. My wife didn’t want me to go back to sea. She said: ‘You’ve been bombed, and torpedoed, and wrecked ashore. Three ships you’ve lost already. You’ve done your share if any man has. Stay with me now. Get a job on land.’ — But she didn’t make a fuss when I said no. She’s a good wife, light of heart, and the child takes after her.

      PASSENGER

      You have been wrecked three times before this?

      STOKER

      Two years ago was the first time. More than that. It was the week when the Germans bombed Rotterdam and murdered, how many thousand? A fine port, Rotterdam. We had discharged there, and were outward bound in ballast. But a U-boat met us three hundred miles west of Land’s End. I fell and burnt my shoulder getting out of the stoke-hole. We were five days in a lifeboat, nineteen of us, but the weather wasn’t too bad. Then we got picked up, and I was back to sea within a fortnight.

      About nine or ten months after that we went ashore somewhere in the Outer Hebrides. I forget the name of the place. We were light again, being west-bound, and a full gale was blowing into the Minch. It was a dirty night. There were more ships than one lost that night. In time of war, when all the lighthouses are dark, ships are like blind men, very subject to disaster. But some of us got ashore, over rocks that were sharp as a razor where they weren’t slippery with seaweed. And a few cuts don’t take long to heal, if you’re healthy.

      PASSENGER

      Then you went back to sea?

      STOKER

      I went back to sea, and the next time it was a Dornier coming out of low cloud off the Humber. A bomb struck the after-end of the engine-room casing, another exploded alongside and started some plates. The sea came in quickly. But I was lucky that day. I was on deck when the bombs fell, and though a funnel-stay, parting like a fiddle-string, came down and broke my left arm, I got into a boat. Into the only one that got away. We were picked up and put ashore the next night.

      PASSENGER

      Then you went back to sea?

      STOKER

      I was in hospital for some time. Then I came back, or I wouldn’t be here now.

      PASSENGER

      And why do you always go back to sea?

      SECOND MATE

      What else should he do? He is a sailor.

      WIRELESS OPERATOR

      And sailors do their duty.… I meant that for a joke, but it isn’t a very good one, is it? For they do. But don’t ask me why. I suppose they have a sense of duty, but God knows where it

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