This story was writen by one of our fundraisers, Lee Calladine, originally for a competition run by the Portsmouth News, but he thought we'd like it too. We did, so here it is exclusive to the Mary Rose 500 Appeal blog...
The Lantern and the Rose
by Lee Calladine
The cobbled lanes of Old Portsmouth were quiet and deserted, tendrils of light played across the buildings each time a brightly lit ferry headed out into The Solent and the warm glow of the street lamps crept into the darkest corners. Not a soul could be seen apart from the shadows of people in their houses enjoying Christmas Eve. A soft winter mist wisped through the Camber Dock, drifting between the masts of the fishing boats, along the Sally Port walls and up the road to the cathedral where the melodic strains of Silent Night drifted from the softly lit stained glass windows and out into the cold night air.
Inside the warmth of the cathedral the atmosphere was magical and the excitement was overflowing. The congregation stood shoulder-to-shoulder, rosy cheeks and red noses thawing and heaps of discarded coats, scarves and gloves decorating the backs of the pews as the cold outside was momentarily forgotten. They sung with delight and anticipation as the clock ticked ever closer to Christmas day.
While the reverie filled the air, a misty orb of greenish-blue light blinked into existence above the Mary Rose Memorial Grave and began to swirl silently, growing in incandescence and size until it finally materialised into the figure of a man. As the man took form he held aloft a glowing lantern and gazed around at his surroundings before stepping forwards hesitantly. As he shuffled down the Navy Aisle the light of the lantern washed over him and revealed a kind face, long hair tied back with a brown ribbon and old fashioned clothes and shoes from days-gone-by. With each step, seawater squelched from his spectral feet and left a trail of wet footprints, mud and soggy seaweed on the flagstones.
Row by row the congregation turned to the aisle as the man passed by them; their singing replaced by stunned silence and hushed whispers of curiosity. When the mysterious man neared the front of the congregation the vicar caught sight of him and stopped in mid-note, mouth wide open in surprise. The rest of the congregation turned to follow his gaze and everything fell silent apart from
the sound of dropped hymn sheets fluttering to the floor. The last strained notes of the organ filled the space until the organist turned to see what was going on. She tumbled of her stool without saying a word and someone in the crowd stifled a snigger!
“Err hello” said the Vicar. “Welcome friend” he said with an unsure stutter.
“Am I still in Portsmouth holiness?” said the man.
“Yes, you are in Portsmouth Cathedral. It’s Christmas Eve mass. Do you need
help?” said the vicar not sure he wanted to know the answer.
“I must find my ship” said the man.
“What ship are you from?” asked the vicar, looking to the man and then towards the congregation who seemed to be hanging on every word.
“The Mary Rose sir, the King’s flagship, although my bones lie here” stated the man matter-of-factly. A collective mumble spread throughout the congregation. “She’ll be coming in any moment now and I need to guide her home to safe harbour” said the man, and without another word he turned and headed out of the cathedral and into the night.
After a second of stunned silence, a frenzy of activity erupted, the vicar and congregation grabbed their coats and scarves and hurried out after the man, squeezing as many bodies as possible through the cathedral doors.
The crowd ran down the High Street behind the glowing and mysterious man, some dashing to the front and others still pulling on hats and coats and trying to keep up. “Where’s he going?” someone shouted. “Let’s just follow him and find out” called back the vicar who was leading the charge.
The man suddenly vaporised into thin air. The vicar skidded to a halt and the horde behind him bumped into each other unceremoniously as they tried to avoid each other. A moment of confusion passed before someone shouted “up there!” and pointed to the soft glow of the lantern on top of The Round Tower.
After a few minutes of hurried footsteps on the dark and cold stairs and a great deal of pushing and shoving, the top of the tower had never been so packed. The huffing and puffing congregation squeezed into the small space and watched in awe as the ghostly sailor held the lantern high in the air and swung it back and forth.
The stars pierced the night sky and the half-moon cast its eerie glow onto the gentle waves of The Solent below, small glints of light 
made the water look like black treacle. At first nothing happened, then the sea began to boil and foam. The bow of a ship broke the surface and heaved itself out of the depths. Seawater poured from its sails and turrets in gushing torrents, fish with gills gasping flapped over the sides and back into the sea and masses of seaweed fell from the masts and banners unceremoniously. The ship righted itself and began to sail forwards towards the entrance of the port following the light of the lantern. The ship glowed with the same eerie greenish-blue as the man.
The man turned to the crowd behind him and with a happy smile he melted away into the darkness. “Look” shouted a woman who was balanced on one of the benches. She pointed to the spot where the man had been standing. There sat the lantern, still glowing, but now tarnished with age. “Isn’t that the lantern that vanished from the Mary Rose Museum this morning, the one that was on the news?” Someone else said.
“We’ll return it in the morning” the vicar replied. “For now why don’t we welcome home our friends and forefathers? After all it is Christmas.”
A voice in the crowd began to sing… “I saw three ships come sailing in on Christmas day in the morning”. One by one the crowd joined in. The vicar held up the lantern and watched the Mary Rose and her crew sail into port to finally take her place in their new museum home.
Mary Rose 500
