ABOUT HARRY DRAKE

I never knew Harry during his time with the Mucky Ducks; we only met after the return from his 25-year odyssey. I used to drink with a few friends twice a week at a certain Brisbane hotel and often there was a solitary character drinking at the end of the bar. As an ex mariner myself I quickly recognised a fellow seaman. He didn’t have to say anything it was etched into his face and bearing. But there was also something else, something - indefinable.

Harry never tried to join in any conversation; he was quite content to be alone. I noticed that he kept an eye on the door, checking the face of everybody who came in, as if searching for someone. He was never rude and would always reply with a strange smile to anybody who tried to strike up conversation but he never seemed to want to take anything further than a polite hello. The two regular barmaids who served us were, shall we say 'bit rough' but I noticed that they were very protective of Harry and although they were at least 25 years his junior I know both of them had a school girlish crush on him. This was hard to understand, as you would never call him in the least good looking.

Then one day my friends failed to turn up for some reason or other and I found myself alone at the bar except for Harry. I thought the situation needed to be resolved so went straight up to him, stuck out my hand and said, "You're a seaman aren't you', my name is Hendrick". We shook hands and I noticed that he didn’t try the old he-man trick of crushing your hand; it was just a good firm handshake. But for the first time, now that I was close, I noticed the eyes and I confess it shook me. Hard to tell the colour, hazel/green but they had been to hell and back and had brought part of that hell back with them.

There was more than one lifetime reflected there. The eyes were those of a person who had seen too much, suffered too much and who was extremely ‘alone’ but not in the usual way we think of being alone. During our first conversation I noticed that even when he gave that funny tight-lipped smile of his, the eyes never quite matched the smile.

He told me he was 'sort of' retired. I told him that I had left the sea and now worked as a freelance journalist, mainly doing articles about the marine industry. We talked for a couple of hours, not saying much but at least I had broken the ice. Over the next three years we became quite good friends. We only ever met in the bar but I would often go on days when my other friends wouldn’t be there, just so Harry would talk to me, he seemed to hate being in a group, I think that people in the bar just didn’t meet his required standard. Mainly we talked about places we had visited, ships and foreign ports – all the things that seamen talk about. Whenever I tried to get a bit deeper he always deflected the conversation, so I stopped probing.

Then in the latter part of 2002 he rang me up and asked to meet in the bar and it had to be 'now'. Usually I would have refused as I was fighting a deadline but seeing it was this strange ‘Harry’ creature I immediately did as ordered. He was in his usual spot but that is about all that was the same. The eyes were still shuttered but it was as if he were being torn apart inside. Nothing that would show to the outside world but I knew - and for the first time ever, I could see he was the worse for drink. Harry could drink a lot but I had never seen him show the least sign of being drunk. Believe it or not, I think he was actually too much of a gentleman to show intoxication.

He told me that he had a book to write and that he wanted my help in getting it onto paper. Now this is a journalist’s worse nightmare, everybody thinks they have a story to tell. However, in this case it was different. I knew there was something hidden behind the scenes with this man and I was eager to drag it out. I was further intrigued when he said that nobody must ever know who wrote it and that even I must use a fictitious name. That was strange, people usually have an ego that demands recognition but I agreed. All he had with him at the time was an article torn from a newspaper reporting a plane crash, but I got the impression that it had, somehow, been the trigger.

Between 2pm and 9pm we sat in that bar while he told me the fantastic story of the ‘Sea Eagles’, or ‘Mucky Ducks’ as he liked to call them. The story was so strange and so unbelievable that, at first, I doubted it was true. This doubt started to vanish when he showed me his ankle and side where bullets had left their mark, plus the scar where one had been removed, but the clincher was when, for the first time, he smiled at me without hiding behind tight lips and I saw the usually invisible damage – then I knew it was true. He also gave me the names of two other Ducks that were still alive so that I could confirm his story. This I did but only as a professional necessity, I knew before then that it wasn’t fiction.

Over the next month I recorded the story onto tape just as Harry told it to me. Then I set about getting it into print form. Really all I was doing was placing Harry’s words onto the screen. I know it is pretty useless trying to get the thing actually published. First time authors have a hard time of it, unless you are some airhead film star with nothing at all to say and no real story to tell. Plus, this story doesn’t really fit into any defined category. This doesn’t seem to worry Harry. He says that if nobody wants to publish it he will do it himself and just get a few hundred copies printed. For him it is just having some a record left behind so that people would know of his friends.

I like to think that Harry is my friend and let’s face it he needs them. Never have I known such a ‘haunted’ man. I wouldn’t want it thought that he is wallowing in self-pity that is definitely not his way; he is far too strong for that. Rather, it’s that because he blames himself for so many tragedies and the loss of so many friends that he can’t shake the sense of failure and regret. He doesn’t wear sorrow on his sleeve but it is there - in his eyes.

If I had to describe what this book was about I think I would simply say that, when all is said and done, it’s a warning. Be very careful about how you approach life and never take anything for granted, nothing is permanent. To use Harry’s words:

From: John ‘Nuts’ Harper (Ex Duck)

I’m glad Harry has written down the exploits of the Ducks. They were all good men. After I left the team there were many blank spaces in the tale, now I know what happened.

As to Harry' I only knew him for a few years but in that short time I saw the man change, not for the better or worse, just for survival. The Ducks took Harry down a path that I don’t think was ever intended for him. It would be true to say he was kind, generous, with a great sense of humour and a trusted friend. He was also a gentleman in the true meaning of the word and one who found it difficult reconciling his work with his nature. Even before I left I saw the inner conflict emerging, I guess, over the years, this conflict would have only become worse.

Harry was a good solid seaman, nothing brilliant but the sort of man you want in command on the bridge when things are bad. It is a shame that although in most things he could take command, within himself he permitted life to command him. Perhaps this was the weak link in his make-up.

You can’t really tell the story of Harry without telling of Red. What a love story that was; no book could ever do it justice. Red was stunning. Not really in looks, attractive yes but not chocolate box pretty. Rather it was in her personality and manner, these were the stunning part, plus she really had irresistible sex appeal. Harry was less than handsome but when he was with Red he somehow became ‘not unattractive’. Those two ‘lit up’ the South West Pacific & Asia. Until I read the manuscript I never knew just what it was that tore them apart, now I know. How very stupid and self-destructive they both were. I know Harry solely blames himself but it takes two to tango.

Harry was a good leader because he never tried to be one. He was always one of the team, never having to prove leadership, which is a rare quality. I believe the problem was that he was just too much of a human being. He felt every loss; every failure and it tore him apart, without the luxury of ever being able to show that it was doing so.

When I read the manuscript that Hendrick sent to me I was very surprised that Harry says he was always scared. I never saw a sign of it. To me he was always calm and in control. But on reflection it was probably so. Harry was a warrior by chance not choice; his place was really the cricket field, not with a smoking gun in his hand. I think he just didn’t know how to get away from it all. I well remember the incident in the engine room of the ‘Many Joys’. Sitting with Harry waiting for the bulkhead to give way and drown us both. I drew my strength from the fact that Harry looked so unconcerned and now I find that he was also terrified. Just glad I didn’t know that at the time.

Harry is not the sort of person you ever forget; yet he never seemed to do anything that you would call memorable. I just wish that there were something I could do to make things better for him. I may have spent the last couple of decades in a wheelchair but it seems Harry has been far more crippled that I. It’s a shame, he doesn’t deserve it but I think there is really only one thing that can heal Harry and I don’t think she will ever be found.

From: Christopher Tredon (Ex Duck)

When I think of Harry I actually think of several people. The early Harry was an all round ‘nice guy’. These were the ‘Red’ years and never have there been two people so much in love. They never really showed it, even to each other, but we all knew and some of us, including myself, were more than a bit jealous. Move over Romeo and Juliet you have nothing on Harry and Red.

After the bust-up with Red, Harry changed. He was still the same kind, even gentle person but he was also different, colder, quieter and I think, very tired. He still laughed and played along with the rest of us but there was a distance forming.

When he was so badly shot and wounded on the ‘Albatross 11’ I first thought that he would quit and none could have blamed him. Although I was myself barely conscious I do remember bits of pieces of what went on that night and they certainly aren’t pleasant memories. For Harry they would have been much worse, he was very close to dying and still had to fight a would be assassin. For many I believe that just living that night would have ended in madness. Maybe, to a small degree it did. Perhaps not madness but certainly lasting mental scars and the only person who could have healed them was no longer there.

Then there was the older Harry. I thought he was a man just going through the motions. He had simply taken too many emotional punches and was on the ropes, while trying to appear to still be standing in the centre of the ring. I was actually surprised that he survived the incident on the ‘Spanish Lace’. At the time I thought he had found the ultimate honourable way out. It wasn’t till I read the manuscript that I knew what made him survive. Only to the Ducks would it make sense. I believe Red did pay him a visit. The rest of the world can think what it dam well likes and to hell with them.

For all the action we saw. All the miles we travelled. All the good and bad times. The lasting image I have of Harry is of he and Red dancing our Zorba dance in Mike’s bar. Harry didn’t know how to dance but he didn’t have to when Red was with him because you never saw anything but their faces. After Red had gone he never danced again

I have never had another friend like Harry but there again I don’t think anybody has.

From: Frank (Plates) Morgan – Ex Duck

I arrived on the scene late in 1986 as the replacement for Pics Blewitt. Max recruited me about five days after I left the Navy and I got the impression he was waiting for me. Initially had my doubts about the job and the people; they were all a bit strange. I was worried that I had joined a bunch of sea going thugs but this idea soon vanished. They were a great bunch and the redheaded female soon had me weak at the knees. But it turned out she was private property.

Harry had me confused. I knew that he was the boss but it just never seemed that he did anything to advertise the fact. After the discipline of the navy this more relaxed form of command took some getting used to. I never heard him raise his voice or tell anybody off but things seemed to still get done and done rather well. It was a strange set-up; we always stayed out of the world’s eye. It was a bit like being a member of some secret service – only without the chance of a pension.

Morbid, Taff and Cyclops you would call devoted lieutenants. With Harry they formed the core of the Ducks. Out of earshot we called them the four musketeers. I think they all belonged to a bygone era.

I had only been with them about a year when Red suddenly wasn’t there anymore and from that time on things were never quite the same.

Harry didn’t exactly retreat into himself, there was too much going on for that but he did change. He didn’t really laugh anymore, just went through the actions of pretending to laugh. At night at sea he would roam the decks and then spend hours staring out to the horizon or to some place only he could see. I spent quite a few night watches on the bridge with him and it was always the same. He was there but he wasn’t. It was as if he was seeing something that was invisible to the rest of us. Being a photographer I ached to get a shot of the expression on his face when he thought nobody was looking but for some reason I just couldn’t bring myself to do it, it would have been the betrayal of a man incapable of betrayal, except of himself.

I was only there for about a year when Red was still around but that was some year. I think the expression is ‘wow’. Harry and Red – Red and Harry you couldn’t put them in any order because when they were together they were just one person. Not welded at the hip and not clinging to each other. It was just a very powerful magic when they were together. Beauty and the beast, well perhaps Harry wasn’t that bad looking but he was no oil painting, except when with Red, and then he was every movie star you ever saw wrapped up into one. It broke my heart to read what parted them, I can only guess what it did and still does to Harry. I only saw the face he showed the world and that certainly wasn’t pretty.

The others won’t say it but I will. Deep down, hidden behind many doors, I believe Harry was/is just an incurable romantic. The Ducks gave him the adventure he craved, even if he didn’t even know it himself. Red was Pandora and Harry became The Flying Dutchman. Doomed to forever roam the sea looking for his lost love and trying to make emends for his past wrongs. That might sound a bit simplistic but I believe it is pretty close to the truth. Who is to say that it’s wrong' The world needs the colour that people like Harry create. They are memorable, not because they are in anyway great, simply that they are ‘greatly different’. Not many like that left these days and that’s the pity.

I went on many assignments with Harry. I saw him with bullet holes, broken bones and a rather devastated face. Through it all I never, for even one moment, thought he was going to die. For some reason I just knew the story still had some chapters to play. I still do. I know Harry will never read this so I will add a further comment. My one fear is that the old fool will take off on some further quest. One last ‘party invitation’, so that he can go out in a blaze of glory, even if the glory is only in his own mind. I am not sure what the quest will be but I have my suspicions. Harry was always angry that nothing is still really being done about modern pirates. If he gets money in his pocket I could easily see him off on the chase. All he will need is a good boat and a crew of idiots to follow him. Well, if Harry wants one last adventure to find peace, who is to say he is wrong' The trouble is, if he comes knocking on my door looking for a volunteer I will probably say ‘yes’.

If you doubt that he was, perhaps still is, a romantic, maybe this will explain. Harry did have one party trick. At the end of every assignment, good or bad, when we had consumed more than a few drinks at the bar he would always get up onto the table and recite the famous speech from Henry V after the great battle with the French.

Some didn't come home HonorRoll