‘Have you met her, Harry?’ Paddy asked, feeling slightly nervous.
With a mischievous glint in his eye, Harry replied, ‘Yes, I do, and believe me, she’s a corker.’
Muffled female voices could be heard coming from the hallway. The sounds suddenly became louder when the front room door was opened. Harry and Paddy stood up as Ethel and Joyce came in. ‘This is my good friend, Joyce,’ Ethel said to Paddy.
Harry was right. Joyce really was a corker. A few yards away stood a tallish woman who Paddy judged to be in her late thirties. She had an attractive, oval-shaped face and short blonde hair and carried a small black handbag. Under an open, knee-length, brown coat she wore a fawn sweater and a white, open-necked blouse.
‘Nice to meet you, Paddy, isn’t it?’ She asked, shaking hands. She spoke with a broad Hampshire accent. In doing so, the corners of her pale blue eyes wrinkled into a warm smile.
‘And you,’ Paddy replied, feeling how soft her hand was in his.
Harry and Ethel gave each other a surreptitious glance, sensing the immediate attraction between Joyce and Paddy.
‘Come on, m’dear,’ Ethel said, ‘let me take your coat. Supper will ready shortly.’
After a few drinks they went into the kitchen and sat down. The atmosphere, as they enjoyed Ethel’s steak and kidney pie, was warm and friendly. Joyce told Paddy about Jack, her husband. ‘The Red Cross told me he is in some concentration camp,’ she said, dabbing her mouth with a serviette, ‘somewhere in Germany. Sadly, we had no children. Ethel’s told me your wife passed away and you have a twelve-year-old son.’
‘Yes.’ Paddy took a deep gulp of beer then said, ‘Patrick’s a fine boy, so he is. Unfortunately, I haven’t seen him for some time, but in his letters, he tells me he’s doing well at school.’
Just before nine o’clock they finished their meal, and carrying cups of tea, returned to the front room. Before entering, Ethel drew the blackout curtains. Harry then switched on the light then the wireless. For the next half an hour they then sat down and laughed while listening to Tommy Handley’s jokes on ITMA. (It’s That Man Again.)
A few minutes after ten o’clock, Joyce glanced apprehensively at the mantelpiece clock and said to Ethel, ‘I’d like to stay and help you wash up, love, but I’d best be off, just in case there’s an air raid.’
Before Ethel had a chance to reply, Paddy stood up and said eagerly, ‘And I’ll be walking you home, just in case, like.’
‘Thank you, Paddy,’ Joyce replied, smiling, ‘that’s very nice of you.’
Ethel left the room and returned holding Joyce’s coat. ‘Thank you for a lovely evening, Ethel,’ Joyce said as Paddy helped her on with her coat, ‘I’ve really enjoyed myself.’
‘And you’d better take this,’ said Harry, handing Paddy a small Yale key. ‘In case we’re in bed when you come back,’ he added with a sly grin.
Outside the house, the rays of a full moon were partially obliterated by grey clouds. The curtains of the houses were drawn and the road was quiet and deserted.
‘I expect you miss your husband,’ said Paddy as they walked down the road. ‘How long were you married?’
‘Ten years,’ Joyce replied, turning up the collar of her coat to guard against the chilly westerly breeze, ‘and I know this may sound terrible, but I don’t miss him. When he was home, he spent most of the time with his cronies in the White Hart. And besides…’ She paused and glanced warily at Paddy, then added, ‘He had a vicious temper.’
‘You mean he hit you?’ Paddy asked as they reached the top of the road.
‘Yes,’ Joyce muttered, nodding her head slightly.
‘But why, was he jealous or something?’
‘He had no cause for that,’ Joyce answered calmly. ‘He was always like that when he drank.’
‘And when he was sober?’ Paddy asked, as they turned down the next road.
‘For the first few years, everything was all right. Then he started to drink heavily. I’m ashamed to say I was glad when he was called up. At least I didn’t have to use makeup to cover the bruises on my face.’
They walked down the next street and stopped outside Ethel’s terraced house. ‘How any man could treat a woman like you, is beyond me, so it is.’
‘Thank you, Paddy,’ Joyce replied, opening her hand bag and bringing out a key. ‘I’ve really enjoyed meeting you.’
‘Maybe I can see you again?’ Paddy asked, looking into her eyes.
‘Yes, I’d like that,’ she replied. ‘Give me a ring. Gosport seven, two, one, four, can you remember that?’
‘To be sure, it’s ingrained in me mind, so it is,’ Paddy answered smiling broadly.
‘Then I’ll say goodnight,’ she said, then kissed him warmly on the cheek.
‘I’m going on a few days leave to see my son,’ said Paddy, ‘but I’ll ring you when I get back.’
‘Don’t forget,’ she said, then opened the door, and with a parting smile, went inside.
After Paddy and Joyce had left, Ethel turned to Harry, and with an all-knowing grin, said, ‘I think they’ve clicked, love.’
‘I think you’re right,’ Harry replied. Then, after giving her a quick kiss on the lips, added, ‘now, let’s forget about the washing up and go to bed.’
CHAPTER FIVE
At 0700, on Friday 19th May, Helix left the dry dock and tied up alongside Fountian Lake Jetty. Lying aft of her were the two hunt-class destroyers, Dulverton and Eridge. “Colours” had just ended. The white ensign fluttered lazily from the stern and a chilly breeze blew downriver, while high above, a cluster of grey cirrocumulus clouds partially hid an anaemic sun.
Manley and Penrose stood on Helix’s quarterdeck. The portly figure of Duty PO Podge Hardman, and QM Leading Seaman Sammy Smith stood nearby talking quietly.
‘There’s no getting away from it,’ Hardman remarked glancing warily at several clouds of black smoke hovering over the city. ‘While we’ve been away, poor old Portsmouth has certainly taken a pounding.’
‘Not ’arf,’ Smith solemnly replied. ‘According to the BBC, last night three ratings were killed and two frigates in the harbour were damaged. The city’s Guildhall was set on fire with incendiaries and several houses in South Sea were destroyed.’
By 1942, Germany’s “Blitz Kreig” (Lightning War), had swept through Europe. The Wehrmacht had occupied every country from Norway to the Pyrenees; Hitler had broken the Pact of Steel with Stalin and invaded Russia. The previous year, the Royal Navy had lost several capital warships including the Prince of Wales, Repulse, and the mighty Hood. Singapore had fallen and Rommel’s Africa Corps threatened Egypt.
The losses during the Battle of the Atlantic reached its zenith when, between 1941 and 1942, two thousand, nine hundred and sixty-one tons of merchant shipping were sunk. In December 1941, the bombing of Pearl Harbour brought America into the war. This meant that Britain no longer stood alone against the Axis powers that now included Italy.
In late September, 1940, Hitler changed the tactics of the German Air Force. He ordered the Luftwaffe to switch from bombing airfields and concentrate on Britain’s major cities. Hitler’s decision to do this was in retaliation for the RAF bombing Berlin. It was to be a costly mistake as it enabled the RAF to increase their attacks on the incoming enemy bombers. This resulted in the RAF winning the Battle of Britain, that effectively ended Hitler’s invasion plans. However, on 7 September 1940, the Blitz began. London was incessantly bombed; attacks on Liverpool, Coventry, Bristol and Plymouth quickly followed. On January 10th, 1941, Portsmouth was devastated along with Gosport and South Sea.
‘Everyone back off leave, Number One?’ Penrose asked, feeling the warmth of the coffee he had had recently drunk gradually filter through his insides. ‘Everyone except Sub Lieutenant Baker, sir,’ Manley replied. ‘I believe he was travelling down from Merseyside, so I expect his train was late.’
At that moment OOD Sub Lieutenant Milton arrived. ‘This telegram for you just arrived, sir, it’s marked u
rgent,’ he said, handing Penrose a buff-coloured envelope.
A look of concern immediately became etched on the captain’s face. Telegrams were invariably harbingers of bad news. And so it proved to be. Penrose ripped open the envelope, and as he read its contents, a deep furrow creased his brow. ‘Great Scott, Number One,’ he gasped. ‘It’s from the chief constable of Wallasey, apparently, Baker’s been arrested for grievous bodily harm. He’s being sent back to us and will be required to return at a later date to face a civil court.’
‘Good Lord, sir,’ pondered Manley, slowly shaking his head. ‘I wonder what happened.’
With an expression of shock in his eyes, Penrose looked at Manley, and in a hoarse voice, said, ‘We’ll soon know, an official letter is being sent to me.’
Sub Lieutenant Milton, who had remained nearby, gave a strained cough. ‘There’s something else, sir,’ he said. ‘A signal arrived from the Movements Office in barracks. Captain Carter wants to see you in his office at 1400. The signal was repeated to the commanding officers of Eridge and Dulverton.’
‘With a weary sigh, Penrose, looked at Baker and said, ‘That’s all I need. Let me know when Baker arrives, I’ll be in my cabin.’ He turned away and went through an open hatchway into the citadel.
Thanks mainly to Hardman and Smith, during “stand easy”, the news of Lieutenant Baker arrest quickly spread around the ship. In the senior ratings mess, Chief Bosun’s Mate, Charlie Jackson, took a good swig of tea, then, looking at Chief Coxswain Barnes, a small, sticky man with a shock of grey hair, said, ‘GBH is pretty serious, isn’t that right, Digger?’
‘It certainly is,’ Digger replied in a thick, Yorkshire accent. ‘I wonder what happened.’
‘I’ll bet you a pound to a penny some bloody female is involved,’ interrupted Chief GI Bob Shilling, a tall, dark haired man with a ram-rod stance. He and the Chief Coxswain were the ship’s “policemen” and responsible for discipline. ‘He could be for the high jump when he returns,’ Shilling went on as he finished his drink.
‘You mean a court-martial and dismissed from the ship,’ chimed in Len Mills.
‘Wouldn’t surprise me in the least,’ Shilling grunted and left the mess.
‘I bet he caught his missus in bed with a Yank,’ Dutch Holland said to Shiner Bamford. He and several other junior ratings were in the mess, smoking and drinking tea.
‘Don’t be daft, Doc,’ Tansey Lee replied. ‘I overhead him telling Lieutenant Millton he had some party at home, so he can’t be married.’
‘GBH, eh,’ Bud Abbot remarked while stubbing out a dog-end in a tin lid. ‘Sub Lieutenant Baker doesn’t strike me as being someone who would fill anyone in, so he must have had a good reason.’
In the wardroom, the reaction to Baker’s plight was more sanguine. ‘Most unusual,’ remarked Jock Jewitt, after taking a sip of tea. ‘Probably had too much to drink and got into some sort of argument, what do you think, Derek?’
Remembering Baker’s demeanour when he received a letter from home, Lieutenant Logan, gave Jewitt a cautious look, and said, ‘In my opinion, there’s a little more to it than that.’
Shortly before 1345, Penrose left the ship, climbed into a tilly and left the dockyard.
Two hours later, OOD, Lieutenant Milton and Manley were pacing around the quarterdeck. Manley had been in his cabin, finishing a letter to his parents. After glancing at his wristwatch he quickly left his cabin, and like Milton, was anxiously awaiting the return of the captain.
‘He should have been here by now, its1530, Manley said, glancing furtively at his wristwatch. ‘The meeting must be very important to have taken this long.’
‘Yes, I think you’re right, sir,’ Milton answered ruefully. ‘I wonder what the old man’s got cooked up for us.’
PO Podge Hardman overheard Milton’s remark and gave QM Sammy Smith a suspicious glance. ‘Mark my words, Smudge,’ he said in a thick Yorkshire accent, ‘I bet the next time we sail it’ll be on one of those fuckin’ Russian runs.’
‘More than likely,’ Smith sullenly replied, ‘just think, two weeks ago we were freezing our bollocks off in the Atlantic, now, if it gets any warmer, we’ll all get dhobi rash.’
No sooner had he spoken, than the ship’s telephone, situated on the bulkhead near the main entrance into the ship, rang. Smith strolled over and unhooked the phone. ‘HMS Helix, duty QM.’ A few seconds later, he glanced at the first lieutenant and said, ‘It’s for you, sir.’ He handed the receiver to Manley.
‘Lieutenant Commander Manley,’ he said, wondering who could be telephoning him.
‘Hello, Hugh, you old devil, I bet you’ll never guess who this is?’ The voice, slightly posh and plummy, sounded vaguely familiar.
‘If you’re the manager of Gieves, the cheque is in the post,’ Manley replied, frivolously.
‘Gieves be damned,’ the voice answered, ‘this is FP, Basil Foster-Price, if you remember we were at Oxford.’
‘Err… of course I do,’ Manley answered, remembering a tall, fair haired young man with beady brown eyes and a propensity for drinking too much.
‘As I recall, you gained your two-two in geography and graduated a year before me then joined the navy,’ FP replied. A year later, I managed a first in history, and despite Papa wanting me to be a civil servant, I joined the dear old Andrew.’
Manley suddenly recalled that he and FP were never close friends. He always considered him to be arrogant and too aware of his privileged background. The smug bugger, Manley thought, trust him to mention of the difference in their respective degrees. Manley smiled ruefully, remembering that “Papa”, was Lord Harold Foster-Price, chairman of a large business conglomerate in “The City”, who had amassed great wealth dealing in stocks and shares. Along with Prudence, his wife, they lived in an elegant Victorian mansion set in acres of lush countryside, a few miles outside Winchester. When introduced to company, Basil always insisted on being referred to as “The Right Honourable” Basil Foster-Pike, especially if the company included a pretty girl. As Basil was an only child, on the demise of his father, he would inherit the family title and fortune.
‘What on earth are you doing in Portsmouth?’ Manley asked, feeling as if the eyes of the OOD and the duty watch were watching and listening.
‘At present, I’m attached to the movements office in barracks,’ FP replied smugly. ‘That’s how I knew Helix had returned from the Atlantic and been in dry dock for repairs.’
‘But how did you know I was on board?’
‘Simple, dear boy,’ FP replied, ‘your name and all officers in HM ships are on secret lists to which I am privy.’
‘I see,’ Manley answered slowly, ‘so what can I do for you?’
‘Well, as it’s my birthday today, I thought I could entice you to the mess for a few drinks and also catch up on things,’ said FP, adding quickly, ‘that is, if you can spare the time.’
With his free hand, Manley cautiously stroked his chin. ‘At present we are replenishing stores, but I think I could come, what time do you suggest?’
‘2230, old boy,’ FP responded with a throaty laugh. ‘Meet you in the wardroom bar, cheerio for now.’ He put the receiver down.
Manley replaced the receiver, and for a moment, stood wondering if he had made the right decision, after all, he and FP had little in common and came from vastly different backgrounds.
The sharp voice of Sub Lieutenant Milton, interrupted his thoughts. ‘Are you all right, sir,’ he said. ‘You look a little perplexed. Don’t tell me she’s ditched you?’ he added with a playful grin.
‘Nothing like that, Ray,’ Manley replied tentatively, ‘just an old acquaintance from college.
As Manley finished speaking, Able Seaman Sammy Smith, the duty QM, piped, ‘Secure. Duty watch fall in outside the coxswain’s office. Leave. Leave to the first and second part of Starboard and first part of port watch from 0400to0600.’ No sooner had he done so than a tilly stopped at the bottom of the brow. The passenger door d
rew open, allowing Penrose to climb out.
Using his silver bosun’s call, Smith bent close to the tannoy and piped, ‘Attention on the upper deck. Captain coming on board.’
‘Man the side,’ Manley ordered. Straight away, Manley, Milton and Hardman formed a line at the top of the brow.
With agility betraying his thirty-four years, Penrose strove up the gangway. ‘Morning everyone,’ he snapped, returning the salutes of both officers and PO Hardman. His Devonian accent was clear and resonant. ‘Ammunitioning all in hand, Number One?’ As he spoke, he bayoneted Manley with a pair of intense pale blue eyes that seemed to look through the recipient.
‘Yes, sir,’ replied Manley. ‘The chief bosun and the duty watch will rig up hoist on the starboard waist and the first and second part of port watch will muster there at twelve forty-five. Err… How was the meeting, sir?’ He ventured nervously.
‘Very interesting,’ Penrose replied cagily. ‘Report to me in my cabin in ten minutes and all will be revealed.’ He then turned away, and after unhooking the clips on a hatchway, disappeared into the citadel.
‘I wonder what’s in the air, sir,’ Milton pondered, furrowing his brow.
‘Your guess is as good as mine,’ Manley answered, ‘but I think we’ll soon find out.’
Penrose’s cabin was situated directly below the bridge. Manley knocked on the door, removed his cap and was told to enter. Manley had been here before and was always struck by how sparsely furnished the room was. The deck was covered in brown, shiny cortisone and the bulkheads were painted a pleasant light green. A solitary shaded electric light hung from the middle of low-slung deck head, studded with electric wiring and pipes. A side door led into a cramped but adequately fitted galley.
Penrose was sat behind a wide mahogany desk on which rested a telephone and a small stack of fawn-coloured files. On the bulkhead behind his desk was framed photograph of King George V and Queen Elizabeth and a coloured map of the world.
‘Ah, Number One,’ said Penrose, ‘come in and sit down.’ He indicated to an uncomfortable looking hard-backed wooden chair. ‘And I’d be grateful if you didn’t smoke. These damn punkah louvres,’ he went on, glancing warily up at the overhead trunking, ‘are not very efficient. I must have a word with the engineer officer about them.’ (Punkah louvres are adjustable openings fitted to the ventilation fan trunking and can provide different angles of air flow.)
Battle Ensign Page 5
