Battle Ensign

by Thomas E. Lightburn

  Manley sat down, crossed legs and waited. Penrose sat forward and placed both hands palm down on the desk, noticing the curious expression on Manley’s handsome features.

  ‘I expect you’re wondering why I’ve asked to see you,’ he said, ‘so I’ll come straight to the point. As I’m sure you’ve heard the war in North Africa and the Med isn’t going very well. Tobruck has been under constant siege since December last year and Malta is dangerously short of food and oil to work her water pumps.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Manley replied. ‘This morning the BBC reported that Malta was considered to be the most bombed place on earth.’

  ‘I’m not at all surprised to hear it,’ reiterated Penrose, sitting back in his chair. ‘And if Hitler does capture Malta, and Tobruk falls, convoys from Italy and Crete can keep his Afrika korps supplied with material. Rommel will then be able to take Egypt and cut off our oil supplies from Iran.’

  ‘Surely our ships stationed at Alexandria can intercept convoys coming from Italy,’ said Manley.

  ‘Admiral Cunningham has ordered them to do so, and bombard the Germans from the sea, but he is short of ships, especially as he has to protect convoys to Malta.’

  ‘Yes, I see,’ Manley answered warily, ‘but I believe Tobruk is well garrisoned by the Aussies, Poles the Free French and ourselves.’

  ‘It was until two weeks ago, while we were at sea,’ Penrose sighed. ‘Winston ordered most of the Western Desert Group to leave the Tobruk area and sail to Greece to reinforce the Greek Army against the German invasion, leaving Tobruk under General O’Connor.’

  ‘That was a bit rash, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes indeed,’ said Penrose, slightly shaking his head, ‘but apparently we have a treaty with Greece that states we will come to her aid if invaded by an enemy.’

  ‘Just how far away is Rommel from Tobruk, sir?’ Manley asked.

  Penrose stood up and faced the map. ‘The signal says his tanks and infantry are at Derna, about a hundred land miles from Tobruk,’ Penrose said, indicating a spot on the Libyan coast. ‘And as the vast expanse of the Quattara Depression lies to the south, here,’ he added. ‘Rommel can only be supplied from the sea. As you know, Tobruk is the only deep sea port on the coast that can accommodate large ships, other than Benghazi, which is too far away west on the Gulf of Sirte, so the blighter has to take Tobruk to continue his invasion of Egypt.’

  ‘Does the signal say when Rommel is expected to attack Tobruk, sir?’

  ‘Yes indeed,’ Penrose replied as he sat down. ‘After consolidating his position in Derna, he attacked Tobruk last month.’

  ‘So Tobruk must be held and supplied by sea,’ Manley replied, realising why Penrose had sent for him.

  ‘Correct,’ replied Penrose. ‘Unfortunately Dainty, Grimsby and supply ships were sunk off the coast of Tobruk early last month. This has left the inshore squadron, ferrying urgently needed stores from Alexandria to Tobruk, somewhat short.’

  ‘I see,’ Manley answered warily, ‘and how many ships are in the inshore squadron, sir?’ Manley asked uncrossing his legs.

  ‘Not many,’ replied Penrose, ‘four Australian destroyers, the gunboats, Gnat, Ladybird, and Diamond. This is the tenth destroyer squadron under the command of Commodore Walter.’

  ‘So where does that leave Helix and the other two Hunts, sir?’ enquired Manley, uncrossing his legs while looking expectantly at the captain.

  ‘That’s what the meeting between myself and the other two captains was about. As senior officer, earlier today I received a top-secret signal from Captain Nick Carter, head of movements section in barracks.’

  Penrose’s mention of the words “top secret” immediately made Manley feel uneasy. A few seconds later, the galley door opened and in came Steward Morris, carrying two mugs of steaming hot tea. ‘Thought youse could do with a cuppa, ser,’ said Morris.

  ‘Err… Thank you,’ said Penrose, ‘just leave them on my desk, then close the door and make sure we’re not disturbed.’

  By this time Manley was more than anxious to hear what Penrose would say. Doing his best to calm his nerves, he reached across the desk, picked up a mug and carefully took a good sip of tea.

  Ignoring his drink, Penrose sat forward and took out a folded sheet of paper from his inside jacket pocket, opened it and placed it before him. In a quiet, concerned voice he read, ‘On Monday, 13th May, a convoy of four merchant ships together with five hunt-class destroyers and the cruiser Carlisle, will leave Liverpool. At 0800 the next day, Helix, Dulverton, and Eridge are to sail from Portsmouth and rendezvous with the convoy at latitude forty nine degrees south, longitude seven degrees north. Captain Neame in Carlisle will be in command.’

  Penrose stopped reading and folded the paper, then took a deep, thirst-quenching gulp of tea, and sat back in his chair.

  ‘And our destination, sir?’ Manley asked, leaning forward, an eager expression on his face.

  ‘Gibraltar,’ Penrose replied. ‘We take on extra fuel then then proceed into the Med and rendezvous with Admiral Vian’s 15th Cruiser Squadron at latitude thirty-five, longitude ten. That’s approximately a thousand miles east of Sicily. Then continue to Malta. As Tobruk is in urgent need of ammunition and food, I expect Helix and others will be needed to supply the army. In that case, I expect Carlisle to accompany the three Hunts and work with the inshore squadron. At the moment the details haven’t been worked out, but you will be sent these in due course. Top-secret, of course. Any questions?’

  ‘Yes sir, about the convoy?’ Asked Manley, giving Penrose a questioning look. ‘It seems a very large escort for four merchant ships.’

  ‘I agree,’ replied Penrose, ‘but there it is. Now, is there anything else?’ he added, sitting forward, and placing both hands flat on his desk.

  ‘May I ask what you intend to do about Sub Lieutenant Baker?’

  ‘At the moment, I’m not sure,’ Penrose answered, ‘I’ll wait until the letter from the chief constable arrives and also hear what Baker has to say.’

  ‘Can we send those men who are due their ten days on leave, sir?’ asked Manley.

  ‘Yes, when we’ve finished storing and ammunitioning,’ Penrose replied. ‘That’s when I’ll be taking four days leave, and I suggest you take five when I return.’

  ‘Incidentally, sir,’ said Manley, slowly uncrossing his legs, ‘I’ll be going ashore at 2000to see an old friend in the barracks wardroom, I’ll be back about 2300.’

  With a sly grin, Penrose stood up and said, ‘Relatively sober, I hope.’ He added, ‘I’ll meet all officers in the wardroom tomorrow at 0900 to put them in the picture, and please tell the officer of the day to let me know when Baker arrives.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  Shortly before 2015, Manley left his cabin and made his way to the quarterdeck. Here, he was met by officer of the day, Jewitt, who had earlier relived Milton. Close by stood Nutty Slack, a small, thickset petty officer and the stout figure of duty quartermaster Able Seaman Dinga Bell. Each man carried a steel helmet hooked over a khaki canvas satchel, containing a gas mask.

  ‘Good evening, Jock,’ Manley said, returning their salutes. ‘All quiet?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Jewitt answered, ‘I don’t think Jerry will pay us visit tonight.’ ‘He glanced cautiously up at the mass of low lying, densely black cumulonimbus clouds, blotting out the weak rays of the full moon. ‘Visibility too poor for the buggers.’

  ‘I hope you’re right,’ Manley answered, then walked down the gangway, slid open the passenger door of a tilly and climbed inside.

  The journey through the dockyard and up Queens Street to the barrack wardroom took ten minutes. This large, imposing red-bricked, Edwardian building lay opposite the main gate of the naval barracks. Even though Manley had been here on several occasions, he was nevertheless, always impressed by the lavish Baroque façade, with its mullioned windows, multi-fluted chimneys, decorative cornices and ashlar centre bock, crowned by an iconic cupola and ship’s finial.


  ‘Thank you, driver,’ Manley said, as he left the tilly. ‘Please pick me up at 2300.’

  ‘Very good, sir,’ the driver replied in a thick Hampshire accent, ‘I’m off duty in an hour, but I’ll pass on the message at the garage.’

  Manley unhinged a tall, wrought iron gate and walked up a wide gravelled path, up two flights of stone steps. Guarding the arched oaken door stood a tall, stocky matelot wearing a white belt and gaiters. Upon seeing Manley he snapped to attention and saluted. Manley immediately returned the salute and showed his pay book containing his photograph and details. ‘Thank you, sir,’ said the guard, opening the door.

  A glittering glass chandelier hanging from a cream-coloured stuccoed ceiling, bathed the entrance hall in a clear white light. Directly ahead, a highly polished oaken staircase, carpeted in royal blue, led up to the officer’s quarters. Obeying the words on a red sign resting on a small, highly polished table, he signed the visitors’ book. Making sure his tie was in place, he walked past two naval lieutenants engrossed in a heated conversation with an attractive Wren officer. He then made his way across the shiny black and white marbled floor, down an oak-panelled corridor on which hung oil paintings of famous admirals and equally famous battles, and arrived at the wardroom door, above which was a frieze depicting galleons in full sail.

  After passing the dining area, flanked on either side by oak-panelled wainscoting, on which hung paintings of the Glorious First of June, Copenhagen and Trafalgar, he arrived at the wardroom. From inside the room, which he knew from previous visits housed the bar, came the melodic sound of Vera Lynn singing the nostalgic strains of White Cliffs of Dover. He removed his greatcoat, cap, gas mask and steel helmet and hung them up on a hook, alongside a row of other service accoutrements, and opened the door.

  The spacious room, warm and smoky, was decorated in pale green. Several more paintings of naval battles hung on the walls and royal blue carpeting, studded with tiny gold anchors covered the floor. From a ceiling, identical to that in the dining room, three electric lights surrounded by round yellow lampshades provided perfect lighting. Several brown leather armchairs and mahogany tables were occupied by officers and their female guests.

  Manley immediately saw the tall, fair-haired figure of FP. FP and three officers, all of whom were from the other two hunt-class destroyers. They were stood in front of the bar, engaging a third officer Wren in animated conversation. Manley inwardly smiled, thinking FP hadn’t changed much since there university days — still using his forceful personality to impress the girls.

  It was only when one of the officers moved away that Manley was able to obtain a clearer view of a third officer Wren. Manley guessed she was in her early twenties. She stood about five feet three, and even though she had her back to him, he could see that her uniform failed to hide the slight seductive curve of her buttocks and trim waist. Her auburn hair, worn as a chignon, was half hidden under her blue tricorn cap. She held an empty glass in her left hand while the other hand rested on her black leather service shoulder bag. Upon seeing her glass, FP turned and asked a white-coated steward behind the bar for a refill. In doing so, he saw Manley looking directly at him.

  ‘Hugh, old boy,’ cried Manley, pushing his way forward, ‘so good to see you. Do come and join us, Horse’s Neck?’ As he spoke Manley noticed FPs beady brown eyes creasing into welcoming smile.

  ‘Sorry to be a bit late, FP,’ Manley replied as they shook hands, ‘but tell me, FP, what the devil have you been doing since you left uni?’

  ‘Like you, I joined the navy,’ FP answered, ‘against my father’s wishes, he wanted me to go into politics. After obtaining my commission as a lieutenant, I served on a minesweeper.’ He paused and took a good gulp of his drink. ‘Then a year as a deck officer on board HMS Duncan, after which I took a gunnery course at Whale Island then was appointed to Glasgow as assistant gunnery officer. On the way back from Mumansk, I slipped on the deck and suffered concussion and was admitted to Haslar. And when I was discharged, I was given a desk job on Captain Storey’s staff in the movements office. It’s as boring as hell, so I’m going to put in for a seagoing job.’

  ‘Good Lord,’ Manley replied, ‘you have been busy.’

  ‘Just like you,’ FP answered, slapping Manley playfully on the back, ‘now, come and join the happy throng.’

  While FP was ordering the drinks, the Wren suddenly turned and saw Manley staring directly at her. For a few seconds Manley took in her pear-shaped face; high cheek bones, straight nose and beguiling, violet eyes that held his gaze. Then, with half a smile playing around her full lips, she quickly looked away.

  ‘My God,’ Manley thought, feeling slight tingle of excitement run through him. ‘She’s absolutely lovely, no wonder those blighters are all over her.’

  ‘Come on, Hugh,’ FP said, handing Manley his Horse’s Neck. ‘Let me introduce you to Laura, Captain Carter’s gorgeous secretary,’ he added, grinning at the four officers standing close to Laura. ‘I suspect they’re all hoping to get her knickers off.’

  Laura overheard FP’s sarcastic remark and turned around.

  ‘Don’t be crude, FP,’ she said, accepting her drink, while looking past him at Manley, ‘and introduce me to your handsome friend.’ Her West Country accent was distinct and clear, and as she spoke, her captivating eyes creased into a wistful smile.

  ‘This, my darling, is Hugh Manley,’ said FP somewhat haughtily. ‘We were at Oxford together, now he’s the first lieutenant of His Majesty’s ship, Helix.’

  ‘Laura Trevethick,’ she answered, extending her right hand, ‘how very nice to meet you.’

  ‘And you also,’ Manley answered, feeling the soft warmth of her palm in his. As he smiled, Laura couldn’t help but notice the dimple appearing in his chin that added to his heavily tanned, good looks. For a few seconds they looked at each other, before releasing hands.

  ‘Trevethick, that sounds Devonian,’ Manley remarked.

  ‘Cornish, if you don’t mind,’ Laura answered frowning slightly.

  ‘I do beg your pardon,’ Manley pleaded. Then, with a smile, said, ‘Tell me, how long have you been Captain Carter’s secretary?’

  ‘Just a month,’ Laura answered, while refusing a cigarette from one of the officers, all of whom were becoming increasing annoyed at the way Laura was suddenly ignoring them. ‘There are two of us,’ she added, ‘Susan and I work twelve-hour shifts.’

  ‘And a jolly good job they do,’ interrupted FP. ‘Now let me introduce you to her admirers,’ he added, grinning at the other officers.

  ‘No need, we’ve met before we sailed on convoy duty,’ Manley replied. ‘Nice to meet you again, gentlemen,’ he added, shaking their hands.

  ‘Good to see you again, Hugh,’ said one of them, a tall, dark haired lieutenant commander, ‘it seems we might be returning their sooner than we think.’

  ‘You could be right, Geoffrey,’ Manley replied. As he spoke, he noticed Laura discretely remove FPs arm from arounds her waist.

  ‘Do you mind, sir,’ Laura said, ‘you’re spilling my G and T.’

  ‘Sorry about that,’ FP replied. Then, in an effort to cover his embarrassment, he grinned sheepishly then added, ‘Come on you lot, drink up, the next round’s on me.’

  Just then, from behind the bar came the soothing sound of a record playing Glen Miller’s Moonlight Serenade. As if programmed, several officers stood up and moved chairs and tables back. In a matter of minutes, the space was filled by couples dancing to the steady beat of the music.

  ‘Come along, old girl,’ FP said, taking hold of Laura’s hand, ‘let’s trip the light fantastic.’

  With a bored sigh Laura replied, ‘If we must.’ She handed her half-full glass to Manley and with a wistful look in her eyes, said, ‘Be kind enough to hold this for me, I’ll be back shortly to claim it.’

  ‘Of course,’ Manley answered, ‘providing I can have the next dance.’ Laura didn’t reply. Instead, as FP lead her away, she turned and gave hi
m a quick coquettish smile.

  ‘You know, I think she rather fancies you, old boy,’ Geoffrey remarked. ‘What do you think, chaps?’ he added, grinning at the other officers.

  ‘Lucky bounder,’ replied a tall sub lieutenant with an envious sigh, ‘I wish it were me.’

  ‘Not on your pay, David,’ said a small, bleary-eyed lieutenant, ‘I hear her family are well-to-do and live somewhere in Devon.’

  ‘I wouldn’t let that put me off,’ said a stocky lieutenant with brown curly hair and tired looking brown eyes. ‘You know what they say, “the Lord helps them that helps themselves”.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be an ass, Harry,’ said Geoffrey, toying with his empty glass. ‘I do believe it’s your shout.’

  While only half listening to their facetious banter, Manley was watching FP and Laura. The dance area was crowded but he noticed Laura moved her head away whenever FP tried to place his cheek against hers. Manley gave a gratuitous smile as he saw Laura quickly remove FPs hand as it slowly slid from her waist onto her shapely backside. A few minutes later the tempo quickened to the rhythmic beat of Chattanooga Choo Choo, at which point, FP and Laura returned.

  ‘Damn jitterbug music,’ gasped FP, moping his sweaty face with a handkerchief. ‘Bloody uncivilised, if you ask me.’

  ‘Don’t be such a bore, FP,’ said Laura, who, despite her efforts on the dance floor, looked amazingly cool. ‘Now that the Americans are in the war,’ she added, accepting her drink from Manley, ‘you’ll have to get used to it, what do you think, Hugh?’

  With a sly grin playing around his mouth, Manley replied, ‘I agree, and I’m sure the girls will appreciate their nylons as well as the music.’ As he finished speaking the melodic strains of At Last, filtered into the air.