The rules had been refined over the years, but a pre-game ritual was still essential. Doug and Jeanette would unload the Corolla at Dixon Park beach car park and then position the faded fold-up chairs on the incline back above the shore, before unfurling and erecting the much loved beach umbrella. Those new pod-like beach shelters were interlopers and offered limited vision. Importantly, they had to keep their eyes away from the ocean until both were seated. Only then, could the game begin. Container ships hovered on or around Newcastle's coastal horizon like black and red rectangles on a child's diorama and the race was on for the couple to count and tally them ruthlessly and efficiently.
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In the early days when coal and grain were plentiful and there were dramas in the port, there could be upwards of 40 vessels bobbing around out the back, waiting for the harbour pilot to guide them in. The more ships there were, the more vigorously Doug and Jeanette competed and sparred. They christened their game 'battleships' and were confident the name wouldn't attract any litigation from the creators of the Battleship board game, which in any case catered to a very different demographic.
This Friday morning summer ritual wasn't always a straightforward count. Some freighters would occasionally sneak behind others anchored closer to the beach and you had to look out for an unusually elongated stern as an indication that a little fella was tucked behind some Panamanian behemoth. It was also easy to miss one nestling just beyond the horizon's meniscus, with only a mast or a flag to give it away. There were no points for dredges, yachts, water police vessels or cruisers and you wouldn't want to get them started on those jet skis. Doug labelled them the malarial mosquitoes of the sea. Cruise ships were allowed as long as they were stationary. Any ship in motion would be struck from the count.
Doug was usually quick off the mark and would often 'call' a tally well inside the designated two minutes. Jeanette was more nuanced and renowned for picking up an outlying vessel minding its own business in the line of sight on that sumptuous marine canvas between the Bar Beach and Redhead headlands.
It must have been the year after Mick Fanning won his last Surfest that Doug dropped off the pace playing 'battleships'. He did his block one morning and became stroppy, refusing to accept Jeanette's insistence that that there were actually two more ships than he could see out there. The trouble was that he literally couldn't see them. A visit to the optometrist confirmed why. He was diagnosed with macular degeneration. He'd had to 'retire hurt' and it was a blow for them both. The silly game had been a treasured activity that no one else had shared.
In 2007 during the Pasher Bulker storm on the June long weekend, Doug woke up with a tightening in his chest. Jeanette called the ambulance and made him comfortable but the flooded roads made access to their street in the dip around Hamilton's Gregson Park very treacherous. When the paramedics finally arrived, it was too late for Doug.
Jeanette slumped into a heavy grief. When summer arrived she ventured down to Dixon Park one Friday but her eyes were so hot with tears that she couldn't bring herself to do the count. However, there were rays of light in the darkness, especially when her daughter announced that she and her husband were expecting their first baby and relocating to Newcastle. Jeanette was astounded, as she never dreamed that those two would leave their hipster life in inner western Sydney
There was also a serendipitous phone call from Doug's mate, Pete. She and Doug used to catch up with him each November when the boys got together to celebrate another year since completing the HSC. Pete rang her the second November after Doug's death to see how she was 'getting on'. She sensed it was more than a courtesy call. A girlfriend of hers had just reconnected with her first love from fifth class, after her 30-year marriage had fallen apart. This type of archival coupling up seemed a better bet than internet dating
Pete became her three-day-a-week companion, visiting from his Copacabana duplex on the Central Coast. It was still early days but she described Pete to her girlfriend as her 'ALDI bloke'. He was good, but different.
Although she swore she'd never do it, she took a punt on introducing Pete to 'battleships' one December morning. She recalled that scene from Annie Hall where Woody Allen tries to recreate a zany, romantic interlude with a new girlfriend after parting from his soul mate, played by Diane Keaton. The ruse hadn't succeeded in the movie and although Jeanette thought revisiting the Dicko Park game might fun, she wondered if she might be pushing fate.
She decided not to reveal that it had been a thing of hers and Doug's. Pete was attentive and engaged for a while but baulked at some of the rules and suggested some modifications that horrified Jeanette. They played a few more times but eventually just opened their books and let the gentle susurrus of the ocean be a soundtrack to their reading. She had cringed at the awkwardness of her attempt to reanimate the past and swore it would take a seismic shift ever to try it again.
Besides, she had a delightful Newcastle granddaughter now. Phoebe was a bright little six-year-old and loved the Friday mornings at Dixon Park with her Nan. One morning Jeanette noticed her gazing out to sea with intense concentration and moving her finger in the air.
What are you doing, blossom?
I'm looking at the boats on the water, Nan. Can you help me count them?
***
Garry Jennings, the author of this piece, is a finalist in the 2022 Newcastle Herald Short Story Competition. Read the full list of finalists in this year's Herald Short Story Competition by visiting the Newcastle Herald website.
