by Shaun Lewis
‘Not good, I’m afraid. Fleet Surgeon Macneish thinks it might take him a year to recover. The man must have the constitution of an ox. He ought to be dead.’
‘What will happen to him, sir? I mean, will he be medically discharged?’
‘What? Over my dead body. The man’s a bloody hero. It would make a fine display of ingratitude to beach him for risking his life for others. No, we’ll find him a billet somewhere, but it won’t be back at sea. Macneish and his fellow witch doctors are set on that. It’s not public yet, but he’s to be awarded the Albert Medal.’
‘Really? I am very pleased for him.’ Richard realised that he had, perhaps, said this rather stiffly and added, ‘He thoroughly deserves it.’
Keyes was too good a judge of character to let this pass by. ‘Do I detect a hint of animosity, Miller? I know Mullan wasn’t the easiest of COs.’
‘Not at all, sir. I’m sorry. Lieutenant Mullan is an extremely courageous man and I don’t know of anybody else who would have had the strength and pure willpower to have done what he did. It is one of his many idiosyncrasies.’
‘Look, Miller, I wasn’t born yesterday. I know Mullan had a reputation for driving his officers hard and he wasn’t the easiest CO under which to serve. But you seem to have earned his approval. He did recommend you for command after all.’
Richard wondered if he had misheard. ‘I’m sorry, sir. Did you say he did recommend me for command?’
‘You seem surprised, Miller. Why wouldn’t he? He told me that you were a most competent officer, who handled pressure well and had gained the full respect of the ship’s company. I might add that you have proved you have courage, too.’
Richard’s world had begun to spin and he wondered if he was in a dream. ‘Forgive me, sir, but I am surprised. Lieutenant Mullan led me to believe the opposite was true. I mean, I don’t think he liked me.’
‘Respect and likeability are two separate things, Miller, and you should know that. Other than those who have actually exercised command of a submarine, very few understand the pressure it places on a man. A submarine captain operates completely independently and holds the lives of his men in his hands through his actions and decisions. As a service, we are fortunate to have more volunteers that we need and hence, can afford to be an elite. Mullan knows this. He came up through the school of hard knocks and, perhaps, he was a little hard on his subordinates. But as you may find one day, Miller, being tough on your men might save their lives.’
Richard decided it was not politic to take issue with Keyes on any of this. In his view, Mullan’s action went well beyond toughening up his subordinates. He was cruel, a bully, divisive and didn’t take responsibility for his mistakes. But nonetheless, Mullan had apparently recommended him for a command. It didn’t make sense.
‘Excuse me, sir, but when did Lieutenant Mullan recommend me for command?’
‘For Heaven’s sake, man! If you’re worried it was in gratitude for saving his life, think again. He wrote me a letter in October, before sailing for the Portland exercises. Why the inquisition? Are you not pleased?’
‘Of course, sir. Just a little taken aback. I’m sorry.’
‘The question is what to do with you now? Fleet Surgeon Macneish won’t countenance you returning to sea for at least three months, and only then if your lungs are better. I think what we’ll do is attach you to my staff temporarily. It keeps you near Haslar and I think it would be useful. Would that suit?’
‘Whatever you think best, sir. Do you have anything definite in mind?’
‘Let’s see. Do you know Nasmith?’
‘Yes, sir, but not well.’
‘He’s setting up a school for teaching offensive tactics. I think he plans on calling it the Attack Teacher. You could give him a hand if you like. It might come in handy for your command.’
Richard’s ears pricked up at those last magic words.
‘I would also like you to work with a few people on how we might devise a proper system for submarine escape. You know, talk to the medical types and engineers. Develop procedures for the surface forces, training of submarine new entrants, that sort of thing. Your experience in D2 will be invaluable. If you keep your nose clean and convince the quacks you’re fully fit to return to sea, well we might fix you up with a command in the second half of next year. I’ll expect you here on the second Monday of the New Year. Sound alright?’
Richard struggled to manage a conflicting mix of emotions - pride, happiness, relief, shock. None of it mattered. He was far from finished in submarines. That was all he cared about at this moment. Moreover, play his cards right and he would have his own command this time next year.
‘Absolutely fine, sir. And thank you. I’ll make sure you don’t regret your faith in me. If there’s nothing else, sir, I’ll pay a call on Lieutenant Mullan before I return to London.’
‘Yes, that will be all. Good idea to see Mullan. Apparently he doesn’t get many visitors.’
*
Richard paid a visit to the Dolphin’s wardroom whilst awaiting transport to the Royal Naval Hospital and the driver kindly took him to a greengrocer’s stall on the way. On arrival at the hospital, he quickly located Mullan’s ward, but as his visit was outside normal visiting hours he had to see the ward sister first.
‘No problem, Lieutenant,’ a pleasant and friendly sister told him. ‘He’s in a single ward on account of his disturbing the other patients anyhow. I’m not surprised he doesn’t receive many visitors. He’s a cantankerous old devil. And such bad language!’
Richard was shocked by Mullan’s appearance. He was propped up in bed, gazing out of the window. His head and hands were completely covered in bandages, leaving only his eyes and mouth visible.
‘You have a rare visitor, Lieutenant,’ the sister announced before withdrawing.
Mullan turned his head and replied, ‘So it’s youse. You’re the last fucker I expected to see. Come to gloat have ye?’
‘Not at all, sir. I’ve brought you something.’ Richard handed over the fruit and the other bag he had recently purchased, but as he unwrapped it, Mullan suddenly became animated.
‘God bless you. I take it all back. Mebbe there’s a grain of decency in a Papist bastard after all. Are ye sure yer not a proddy?’
‘It’s proper Irish, sir. The wardroom Chief Steward said it was good stuff and the best they had.’
‘I couldn’t give a fish’s tit if it was Scotch. I’ve no’ had a drop for weeks. Those starched aprons who claim to be angels of mercy out there won’t give me anything stronger than tay. Ye’ll have to pour it fer me, though.’
Richard duly unscrewed the bottle he had smuggled into the hospital with the fruit and poured Mullan a large measure of the whiskey. He had to hold the tumbler to Mullan’s lips.
‘God bless ye again. I think it might jes now be worth livin’ a while longer.’ However, as he finished his sentence, Mullan started spluttering and then gave a long gurgling cough. ‘Fucking lungs. Still playing up,’ he said apologetically. ‘So to what do I owe the very great pleasure of your visit?’
‘I came to thank you, sir, for recommending me for a command. I’ve just heard the news from the Commodore.’
Mullan looked back to the window. ‘No need to thank me. ’Twas no more than ye deserved. And don’t call me sir. I’m no longer your superior officer.’
‘I’m sorry. Force of habit I suppose. But why did you change your mind, sir? The last time we discussed it you seemed emphatic that you wouldn’t.’
‘I told you. Because you deserved it, that’s all. You’re still the usual gentleman officer with wealth, privilege and family connections. I’ve no doubt I’ll be calling you sir before long, but you didn’t buckle under my pressure and you’ve got guts. You proved that when you saved my life. Not that I’m sure I thank ye for it.’
Mullan turned back to face Richard and raised his heavily bandaged hands. ‘Besides, you’re a fucking liability as a First Lieutenant. No CO will ever
have you again. Yer a fucking Jonah.’
For the first time ever in Mullan’s presence, Richard laughed. ‘An odd reason to recommend me for command, but I’ll accept it nonetheless. Can I offer you another sip of whiskey?’
Mullan nodded and this time the drink did not bring on a bout of coughing. ‘Are ye goin’ t’ join me? Or are you still a fucking prig?’
‘Why not?’ Richard was surprised to hear himself say. He poured himself a small measure and sniffed it tentatively. The aroma assaulted his nasal glands, but then the vapour subsided.
‘This is my first and perhaps my last drink, so I’ll make it a toast. To your swift recovery.’ He took a sip of the whiskey and swallowed. It immediately burned his throat and he was reminded of an unpleasant cough mixture.
‘Thanks,’ Mullan responded. ‘I know what that meant to you. Now I think ye’d better go before Miss Starchy Knickers catches ye. You’d better take the bottle, too. It’s a pity as it’s good stuff right enough, but I can’t help myself to it.’
‘Fair enough, Mullan, but I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’m joining Keyes’s staff in January. It means I can come and smuggle the bottle back in. How’s that?’
Mullan said nothing for a short while, but then went on to say, ‘You’d really do that? You’d come and visit me again?’ He spoke unusually quietly for Mullan.
‘Yes, I will, but on one condition. You don’t make me drink this awful stuff again. I cannot fathom what you see in it.’
‘Aye, fair enough. It’s a deal. Now fuck off and let me rest.’
Chapter 13
May 1913
Richard had never visited a prison before. He found the experience distasteful and embarrassing. His discomfort had started when he had had to wait outside the main gate to gain entry to the prison. He had felt sure that every passer-by was staring at him and thinking, ‘Oh aye. Even fine gentlemen have criminal connections.’ How could Lizzy have done this to him? No wonder she had given a false name. That just made Richard even more uncomfortable. He had had to back up the lie in stating his business as a visit to see Miss Phyllis Westerman. As far as he could recall, it was only the third time he had lied in his life.
After announcing himself and being admitted to the prison, he was led down a seemingly unending maze of corridors. The journey was protracted by the constant unlocking of doors and relocking of them afterwards. Every time a door was shut and locked behind him by the female warders, the slam served to shake him. His mind began to play tricks. Might he ever be released into the light of the summer’s day? He had, after all, told a falsehood to gain entry. Stop worrying, his reason told him. Holloway Prison was built to house women prisoners only.
It was not just his aural senses that were being assaulted. The linoleum-lined corridors reeked pungently of a mixture of floor polish, boiled cabbage and carbolic soap. After an eternity, Richard was escorted to the visiting room. The large room was dimly lit by electric lamps and furnished only with a few trestle tables and simple wooden chairs. He was invited to take a chair to his left. Seated on the other side of the room a lawyer inclined his head towards him and resumed reading one of the many pieces of paper strewn on the table before him. Richard’s escort left the room and the only other occupant was another warder, dressed forbiddingly in a dark gown and cap, with a long chain suspended from a black leather belt. Richard smiled at her weakly, but the warder’s stentorian expression did not alter to acknowledge him.
Five minutes later, he heard a jangling of keys from behind the steel door in the corner opposite. He stood in expectation of seeing his cousin, but the pretty young woman who entered, followed by another warder, was not known to him. The prisoner’s dark chemise and white apron was covered with arrows and a large, circular tally hung from her left breast. She crossed the room and sat opposite the lawyer. Richard noted that the circular tally was covered in a few letters and numerals, but no name. As the second warder withdrew with another clang of the door and jingling of keys, he heard an appalling shriek originating from down the corridor, the other side of the door. The lawyer immediately started talking in a low voice and Richard forced himself not to tune into the conversation. He found this hard, as there was not much else to catch his attention. The room was featureless except for a clock to his right. The walls were whitewashed and completely devoid of decoration. As he was forced to wait yet longer, he began to wonder what had caused the shrieking. Lizzy had told him tales of how women were tortured in prison, but he had not believed her. Might she have been right? Could it have been Lizzy shrieking? He shuddered at the thought.
Fortunately, before his imagination could conjure up the scenes of horror that might be being enacted, the door opened once more and Elizabeth entered the room. Unlike her fellow prisoner, she was dressed in her normal clothes, since she was on remand. These days she seemed to favour outfits in white, green or purple, the colours of the WSPU. Today she was dressed in purple. He was shocked, but not too surprised, to see she looked pale and haggard. Her beautiful, golden hair had lost its lustre. The normally pink cheeks were slightly sunken. But for the strict instructions he had received that there was to be no physical contact between prisoners and their visitors, he would have flung his arms around her in protection. Lizzy looked so frail and vulnerable. Then she smiled and he saw the same old sparkle in her jewelled eyes was still there. Lizzy wasn’t beaten yet and his admiration for her spirit and his love for her overcame his pity.
Elizabeth sat down on the chair on the other side of the table. Neither of them spoke until the second warder had withdrawn from the room. The first warder remained impassive, at a discreet distance, but nevertheless within earshot. Elizabeth made to put her hand on Richard’s, but withdrew it in time, in response to the sudden stiffening of the watching warder. She spoke quietly.
‘Oh, Dick, thank you for coming. I really could not think who else to call. I hope ...’
‘But, Lizzy, what’s this all about? How long have you been in this cursed place?’
‘Patience, my love. I’ll tell you eventually. We don’t have much time now, so don’t interrupt, and hear me out.’
Elizabeth’s eyes bored into his, daring him to contradict her edict. He knew better than to take up the challenge.
‘Oh, very well. Tell me in your own time and I’ll just listen.’
‘You didn’t tell them my real name, did you?’ Richard shook his head silently. ‘Good. It would make matters even more awkward if Charles or Uncle William were to find out I’m here. You mustn’t breathe a word, agreed?’ Richard just nodded.
‘You have to find me a lawyer. I’m up before the bench the day after tomorrow.’
‘But, Lizzy. What’s wrong with Sir Robert? He always handles the family affairs.’
‘Can’t you see? That’s just the point. He would be bound to peach on me to Charles.’
‘As you wish, but I can’t think of one right now. I’ll ask a couple of fellows at the Naval Club. Yes, of course, I will be discreet. Look, is there anything I can get you? Pardon me for saying, but you do look a bit peaky. Are they giving you enough to eat?’
‘I’m not eating. I’ve been on hunger strike ever since they pinched me three days ago.’
‘You’ve not eaten for three days! Why ever not, you chump? The food can’t be that bad, even in a hell hole like this.’
‘We never do. It’s our way. It won’t be for long. I’ll explain everything when I’m out. Now, Dick, there’s just one more thing. I’m in here with Alice Robson. You know, the school mistress Peter was seeing before he left for Tehran. The lawyer needs to represent her, too.’
‘Oh, my word, Lizzy. How on earth is Miss Robson involved in this?’
‘Never mind that now. I can explain everything once I’m out of this beastly place. Just be a perfect poppet and get me that lawyer.’
‘You can’t leave it there. I still don’t know what’s going on? What about Miss Robson’s people?’
‘Yer five minutes i
s over now, Westerman. Time to be sayin’ yer goodbyes,’ the warder interrupted. She then rapped on the steel door back to the cells. The jingling of keys and turning of the lock was repeated. Elizabeth stood to leave and, leaning forward, she brushed Richard’s cheek with her fingers.
‘Mum’s the word, my darling. And remember, I’m known here as Phyllis Westerman,’ she whispered. ‘Take care and thanks awfully.’
‘But … Er, Miss Westerman. You must eat,’ he called after her as she was led away.
‘No, dearie,’ the watcher replied. ‘Them’s not their ways. Wish I ’ad ’arve their courage, but it’ll do them no good.’
Richard commenced the journey back to the main gate and took his handkerchief to the tears rolling down his cheeks.
*
‘Please help yourself to more sandwiches, Miss Robson.’
Richard passed the plate across the table. He, Alice and Elizabeth were taking afternoon tea in a nondescript hotel in Westminster. He had booked them a room there in order to use the facilities to bathe and change after their release from custody earlier in the day. Richard would have preferred The Ritz, but Elizabeth had insisted on a location not frequented by the family or friends of their fathers. Alice did not take much prompting to take the last two sandwiches.
‘I hope you don’t mind, Mr Miller. I’ve not left you any. I’m absolutely ravenous.’ Alice did not wait for the response before wolfing down the sandwiches in an unladylike manner.
‘Careful, Alice,’ Elizabeth warned. ‘After seven days without food, you’ll be sick if you carry on like that. Drink more tea.’
Richard regarded Alice discreetly over his teacup. He had met her once before, but her appearance had changed in just a year. The hollow cheeks and protruding cheek and collar bones were clear evidence of a recent and rapid weight loss. She was a good looking woman and he could see the physical attraction his brother, Peter, must feel for her. He wondered how on earth she had become mixed up with a firebrand such as Lizzy.
