And now, a tale well calculated to keep you in...
...suspense.
Friday the 13th, unlucky, nonsense, rank superstition, that's all.
Listen now to Act One of Friday, starring Ivor Francis,
and written especially for suspense by Jonathan Bundy.
Ah, look at it down there.
Most beautiful little harbour this side of Clove Valley and Plymouth O.
And so peaceful and quiet down there now.
You'd hardly believe that a few years ago we had us one of the busiest ports on all the coast of England.
A high deal of trade went in and out of this port in those days, sometimes three and four ships a week.
There was always them as laid over too, and the oaks had picked up a cargo, unexpected,
and fishing boats, there were plenty of them.
But mostly it was trade.
Ships and sailing men from all the four corners of the earth, and I was part of it.
A few years ago, did I say?
Ah, well, I guess to be more exact, it was more like 40 years ago.
Long time for a man.
Shipping agent, I was.
Not a single piece of pottery or sack of grain or bale of goods that didn't go through these ends of mine.
Aye, all through our ends, that is.
You see, I had me a partner, Philip Morley by name.
Fine young chap he was too.
Why, in seven or eight years, he knew most as much about that business as I did.
There we are, Beckham. We're all ready for the lorrenta now.
I've made all the arrangements and she can start taking on cargo first thing in the morning.
Fine, Philip, my boy, excellent.
But I'd say it's about time now, wouldn't you?
Why a master like Captain Cunningham should have had such trouble filling out a crew I never understand.
Something about the sailing date, he said.
Oh, well I don't see why.
Well, now I should be off to London to arrange the insurance for her.
Some superstition it was.
Eh, that superstition?
Yes, sir.
Bah, Tommy Rot, and Philip, you know that as well as I do.
Of course, the men beyond the mast are superstitious, most of them, and omens and things and black cats across the deck.
Aye, aye, and carrying a ass foot for luck too.
All right, all right, they're kind of simple and amusing and they're armless.
But this, well, if you ask me, me lad, it's carrying things just a bit too far.
It's ridiculous.
Well, isn't it lad?
Well, of course, there was the Bristol Queen, Beckham.
Aye, the Bristol Queen and a hundred others that left for the open sea on all days of the week.
Well, I know, sir.
No, no, no, Philip, it's all foolishness.
Foolish superstition and nothing else.
And don't you ever believe otherwise.
So I drove me up to London town, the big insurance exchange.
Biggest in the world it was, with more than two score brokers sitting around their tables and all in touch with what was going on by the means of that marvelous invention, the telegraph.
And I talked with my old friend, Mr. Edward Atherington, who handled all my problems back those 40 years ago.
Ah, here we are now, Mr. Beckham, full and plenty of ink.
Good.
Now, you say the vessel is named the Laurentia.
Aye, Mr. Atherington, the Laurentia, one of the finest ships ever put to sea, sir.
Oh, yes, I believe I recall having insured her once before on a sailing out of Southampton.
No doubt you have, sir.
Still under Captain Halsey Cunningham?
Yes, sir, the same.
Good.
Now the value of the cargo, Mr. Beckham?
£15,000.
Oh, £15,000, eh?
Aye, sir.
We're low to know with finished wool and goods to be carried to the port of Philadelphia in America.
Good.
It's surprising how much the trade of that young country has increased recently.
Aye, it is.
Yes, especially with so much political strife between its North and South.
Aye, but, Mr. Atherington, I confidentially predict that one day the international trade with America will be second only to the trade with England.
Oh, yes, perhaps so.
Now, you wish full coverage?
Full coverage, sir.
Very well.
£15,000 in finished wool and...
Aye.
And the destination is the port of...
Oh, by the way, Beckham, have you set the sailing date?
That I have, Mr. Atherington.
And what is it, please?
April the 21st.
Let me see now.
There would be...
Now we need to look, sir.
It'll be Friday after the next Friday week.
Ah, yes, aye.
Friday?
On a Friday?
That it is.
Oh, no.
Then I'm sorry.
I'm very sorry.
Aye.
Now, what's the matter with that?
I trust you aren't jesting, Mr. Beckham.
Jesting? Hardly.
You mean you don't know?
I certainly don't.
Well, then I'll tell you what's the matter with it.
No, no, no.
Wait. Listen.
Now, you listen to me, Mr. Atherington.
I'm off.
Listen.
Gentlemen, I have a dispatch of great importance.
The sixth master schooner, Trey May,
long overdue at the port of Southampton.
She is now known to have been completely wrecked
in a severe storm off Basel Reef.
All hands, all cargo lost.
Bearers your answer, Mr. Beckham.
Oh, it is, aye?
Aye.
Because the Trey May left her last port of call
most ill-advisedly, sir.
Left her port of call on a Friday.
Well, now, don't be absurd, Mr. Atherington.
Surely you don't think her sailing on a Friday
had anything to do with this?
Think, man.
I know it did.
And so do all the rest of the gentlemen
here in the exchange.
Nonsense.
Is it?
Then what of the Clemper Hall
that founded in a hurricane off the coast of South America?
She sailed on a Friday, too.
And the Marley Cade that perished off the coast of Africa.
Wait a minute.
And the Capricarno off the Azores.
And the Dorset team.
Don't you see?
The Lee Cambria, the Plymouth Flyer.
You name them, there've been dozens of them.
All of them sailed on a Friday, Beckham.
And they're all at the bottom of the sea.
And you mean to tell me, Mr. Atherington,
that you or any other supposedly intelligent person...
I tell you, Beckham, there is an unholy curse on Friday sailing.
Ah, come on now.
Well, ask the sailors.
They know it.
And most of them, those that have their wits about them,
wouldn't sign on for a Friday clearance
if their very lives depended on it.
Rubbish.
Most of the masters of our shipping fleet know it, too.
But I suppose you didn't mention a possible Friday sailing
to the men of the Laurentia.
Of course I did.
And they all agreed to it?
Yes, every one of them.
Well, all but a stupid young midshipman
who was easy enough replaced and one of the galley boys.
Well, does that answer your question?
No. No.
Can't you understand, sir?
Can't you see the disaster you're courting
by letting that ship go out on a Friday?
No, I cannot.
Believe me, sir, I've never heard anything so completely silly
in all my life.
Silly?
Yes, yes, utterly ridiculous.
Well, that is not the way the Admiralty feels about it, Beckham.
The Admiralty?
Aye.
And you can mark my word, sir.
Before this 12 month is over,
there'll be an edict against Friday sailings,
a royal edict.
Ah, Tommy Rot.
Now, fix up these air papers
so I can have my coverage for the Laurentia.
Well, will you do it?
No, Beckham, not I.
Now, you looky.
Not I.
Unless you change that date.
Very well.
Then I shall have to take my business to someone else.
I'm sorry.
Not only now, but hereafter.
That is up to you.
But you mark my word, Edward Everington,
the Laurentia will sail on a Friday,
and she'll be living proof of what a fool you've just made of yourself.
And so it was that I betook myself across the room
to another of the insurance men, a younger man,
intelligent-looking chap who,
I was certain, would be above any such childish superstition.
Oh, yes, sir.
Beckham's my name, Henry Beckham.
What?
Oh, yes, yes, of course, Mr. Beckham.
I've seen you here many times.
My name is Archcroft, sir.
Mr. Archcroft?
Won't you sit down, please, sir?
Thank you.
Ah, rather a regular client of Mr. Edward Everington, aren't you?
Let us say rather I was.
Was?
Aye, but no longer.
It may surprise you after all these years of my dealing with Mr. Everington,
but I've now decided to let one of you other gentlemen
handle my insurance business.
Why, of course, Mr. Beckham.
And I give you my word that you'll never regret it.
It will be an honor and a privilege to serve as your account, sir.
Thank you.
And is there anything that I can do for you here and now?
There is, Mr. Archcroft, there is.
I need insurance on a cargo vessel that's sailing to America shortly.
Oh, fine, sir.
And what is the name of the carrier?
The Lorenta.
Oh, yes, yes. Good ship, sir.
Yes.
Captain Halsey Cunningham, I believe.
That's right.
And the cargo, sir?
15,000 pounds worth of finished woolens.
15,000 pounds, sir?
Oh, yes.
Yes.
There we are.
And the sailing date, sir?
Friday, April...
Friday, sir.
That's right.
I'm sorry, sir, but I cannot handle it.
You...now look here, young man.
Unless, of course, you change that date.
Don't you see, Mr. Beckham?
I see nothing.
Silly, ridiculous superstition.
That's all it is.
I'll go elsewhere.
Friday?
Oh, no, you can't mean it, Mr. Beckham.
I certainly do.
Friday the 21st.
Then I'm sorry, but the answer is no.
I'm sorry, Mr. Beckham.
Friday?
Sailing on a Friday, did you say?
That's exactly what I said.
Oh, then I'm sorry, Mr. Beckham.
Now, just a minute, you.
Just a minute.
Friday?
No, sir, I wouldn't think of it.
Oh, you wouldn't?
Now, get someone else, if you can.
Sorry, not I, not for a Friday sailing.
Oh, a stupid lad.
Sorry, sorry.
Superstition, eh?
Sorry, sorry.
It's all nothing but a superstition.
Sheer stupid superstition.
Bye, Evernote.
Show him.
I'll show him.
Hard-headed businessmen, they call themselves, but because of his nonsensical belief in a
curse on Friday sailings, they turned me down.
hard aided businessmen they call themselves but because of his nonsensical
belief in a curse on Friday sailings they turned me down well then I'll tell
you what I did and I don't deny that by the time I got back here from London
back to all the old familiar things that have been so close to me so many years.
Well, I don't deny that more than once my determination began to waver a bit, as you might say.
But ahead I went with my plan.
Beckham, what are you up to, man?
Philip, my friend, I'm selling out.
I don't understand.
I'm selling out to you, to you, Philip.
What on earth for?
Well, you've done well for Beckham and Morley, you've done well for yourself.
That means you've saved enough to buy me out.
I've seen that.
And so I'm selling out to you.
But why?
Because I have need of cash, a lot of cash.
Well, has something gone...
No, no, no, no, no, boy, nothing's gone wrong.
But if you'll buy me out, it'll give me what I need to finance the building of a ship.
A ship?
Yeah, to prove once and for all the absurdness of this Friday sailing superstition.
And anything else of the sort that's connected with Friday.
Once and for all.
Oh, I see.
So if I can have your check, Philip, I'll make arrangements with Mr. MacBaskin.
The ship bill are on, say, the day after tomorrow.
The day... that's Friday.
That's right. Friday.
As ever was.
Ah, yes. Yes.
Excellent, Mr. MacBaskin.
And now then, build it as exactly as your specular, and it should be exactly what I want.
Very well.
And if I understand you correctly, Mr. Beckham, you'd like me to begin construction right away.
Just as soon as possible, provided that you keep the schedule we discussed.
Yes, of course, the schedule.
Well, that means we can start a week from today.
So if you'll affix your signature to this contract, and the date, right here, please.
Aye.
January J. Beckham.
And the date, please.
Aye.
Friday, April the 28th.
And so it was.
We'd made the contract on Friday, April the 28th.
On Friday, May the 5th, began the building of the ship.
My ship.
And true to his word, Malcolm MacBaskin tended himself to every detail.
And like myself, made certain there was no deviation, not by a single day, from the schedule that we had set.
The date for laying of the keel was a Friday, and it was met.
The frames were begun, the ribs and plating, and the deck structure, the caulking, the finishing, the painting.
Every single step in her construction was begun on a Friday.
And so it went on, through May and June, July, August, and September.
And then finally, on a beautiful morning at the end of September.
Oh, she's a beauty, all right. Just wait until they get the canvas on her.
That won't be until after this launching. I understand Beckham has done all this by himself.
Certainly hopes he proves his point.
Hey, here's the pretty girl up there with us.
Wait now, they're getting ready. Wait now.
All all ready now, my dear?
Yes, I guess so, Uncle Henry.
Very well then. Now, hold the bottle tightly, and don't worry when it breaks, the wrapping will keep it from hurting you, you see.
So strike it with all your might.
But won't it splash all over my nasty dress that you got for me?
Oh, well, oh, boy, a dozen more, my dear. All prettier than this one.
Now then, all ready now?
All ready, I guess.
Good, then speak up loud and clear.
Go on, dear, just the way I told you to.
Um, uh...
Long may you sail...
Oh, yes, sir. Long may you sail the seven seas, good ship...
That's right, that's right. And long?
And long may you prosper, each cargo, each cargo richer than the last.
And may you serve to show to all mankind that the only truth is truth itself.
I still don't understand what that means, Uncle Henry.
You're doing fine, my dear. Now go right ahead, go right ahead. And now this day...
All right. And now this day, the 22nd day of September of Friday...
That's right, go on.
Are Chris and they to be known here ever after as the good ship Friday?
Yeah!
Aye, there she was. More ship the Friday.
Sliding down the waves, gliding as graceful as a swan...
Into the waters that would caress her for the rest of her natural life.
And then, as she sat there bobbing gently on the tide...
I knew I was right. That I now could prove I was right.
As soon as she was fitted with her canvas, a matter now of only days...
But one thing would remain. Aye, aye, the fitting climax to my plan.
The fitting final proof.
In just a moment, the concluding act of...
Suspense.
You know, there's a lot of talk, sensible talk, about driving carefully.
But there are times when you shouldn't drive at all.
Don't drive when you're drowsy. Go off the road and rest for a little while.
Don't drive when you're angry or upset.
People are apt to take out their anger on the car and cause a serious accident.
And never drive if you've been drinking.
Obeying these don'ts may save your life or someone else's.
And now my ship, in order to fulfill its destiny...
Required not only the best of crews, from first mate to cabin boy...
But the finest master I could find.
A master truly worthy of her.
And who would also meet my, yes, I'll admit it...
My rather unusual requirements.
And when I did find him, I knew that he was the man.
And let me assure you again, Mr. Beckham, I gave it a privilege to take the command of this fine shipper of yours.
And I certainly would feel that way about it, Captain.
Now, as for the sailing date, to begin, I'm made involved.
Anytime you say, Mr. Beckham. Immediately, if you like.
Immediately? Aren't you forgetting the schedule?
Oh, of course, of course, of course.
And always remember this, Captain.
Aye, sir, aye, sir.
I selected you to be the master of my ship because of your excellent record and reputation.
Yes, thank you, sir, thank you.
But also, and more important, Captain, to prove once and for all the utter fallaciousness of that absurd superstition.
Absolutely, absolutely.
Now, you must understand that, Captain. You must understand that.
How important that is to me.
I do, I do.
You must understand that that is my only reason for having undertaken all this and for having selected only you.
And I do understand, Mr. Beckham. I do understand.
I'm glad you do. I'm glad you do, Captain Friday.
And finally then, the day.
And there she was, my fine new ship, the Friday.
Conceived on a Friday, built on a pattern of Fridays,
christened and launched on a Friday under the command of Captain Friday.
By the day, Friday, October the 13th, under a clear blue sky,
proud in a new paint and polished brass and billowing canvas with flags and pennants flying,
the good ship Friday, under Captain Friday, sailed out of the harbor on a maiden voyage and sailed on a Friday.
Thousands of people who'd heard of her and what she meant.
Thousands thronged the piers to wish her bon voyage and cheer her on her way, to wish her godspeed.
Bells rang and whistles blew in her honor.
In my honor, for here at last was living proof, proof beyond the shadow of a doubt,
that the silly, ridiculous, childish superstition about Friday being unlucky was indeed a superstition and nothing else.
I'd stake my everything on her, all my money, yes, almost my soul.
And now, before the doubters, before the world, I'd prove that I was right.
I'd won. I'd won.
Except for one thing. The ship was never heard of again.
Aye, the ship was never heard of again.
Suspense.
You've been listening to Friday, starring Ivor Francis, and written especially for Suspense by Jonathan Bundy.
Suspense is produced and directed by Bruno Zarratto Jr., music supervision by Ethel Huber, featured in tonight's story,
where William Redfield as Morley, Robert Dryden as Etherington, Mercer McCloud as Captain Friday,
Lawson Zerby as Archcroft, and Hetty Galen as the Girl.
Also in our cast were Bill Lipton, Herb Duncan, and Dave Gilbert.
We'd like to take this opportunity to thank Radio TV Daily and the more than 400 radio and TV critics and columnists
who just voted Suspense, the dramatic show of the year, on radio.
Listen again next week when we return with The Man Who Went Back to Save Lincoln,
another tale well calculated to keep you in...
Suspense.
Heavenly Days, it's Richard Hayes, Monday through Fridays on the CBS Radio Network.