Battle Ensign

by Thomas E. Lightburn

  ‘I’m going to give you some oxygen,’ said Latta, ‘it’ll help your breathing. Then, when you’re feeling up to it, we’ll get you into your sleeping quarters.’

  Bamford removed the oxygen cylinder and held it, while Latta placed the mask over Penrose’s nose and mouth and secured it around his ears with elastic straps. Careful not to turn on the oxygen too quickly and cause a sudden oxygen flow, he slowly turned on the valve and watched the hand on the dial move to the optimum level. ‘Now, sir,’ Latta said, ‘I want you to try and relax and breathe slowly.’

  Penrose did as Latta asked, and after about five minutes, his pallor and breathing began to improve.

  ‘Och, well done, sir,’ Latta said, ‘you’re doing just fine.’

  Just then the bridge intercom on the bulkhead by the side of Penrose’s desk rang out. Manley unhooked it from its holder. ‘First Lieutenant,’ he snapped.

  ‘Jewitt, sir, how’s the captain?’

  ‘He’s alright so far. I’ll be up presently,’ Manley replied, and replaced the handset.

  ‘I’m returning to the bridge, Doc,’ Manley, ‘you seem to have everything under control, but keep me informed.’

  ‘Just a minute, sir,’ Latta said, handing the oxygen cylinder to Bamford. He turned, and in a church-like whisper, said, ‘We’ll have to land him at Gib, sir, I hear we’ll be passing there on Wednesday, any chance of getting there sooner?’

  ‘’I’ll speak to Derek, and let you know,’ Manley answered calmly. Before leaving the cabin, Manley looked at the masked face of Penrose, and giving him an encouraging smile, said, ‘Don’t worry, sir, you’re in good hands, you’re going to be fine.’

  However, what Manley didn’t know, was Penrose’s pulse and blood pressure remained perilously high and he could die any minute.

  CHAPTER TWENTY- SIX

  As Manley opened the captain’s door, he met Leading Steward Morris. ‘’Ow is he, ser?’ Morris asked, his eyes etched with concern. ‘Is he all right, like?’

  As Penrose’s personal steward, Morris was close to the captain. Manley was well aware of this and quietly replied, ‘The captain’s in good hands, Morris, now, be a good chap and go below.’

  ‘Ta, ser,’ Morris meekly replied, then with a worried expression on his face walked down the stairway into the main passageway. The time was 1500. Secure was not for another hour and everyone was still turned too. The only men in the S and S mess were Steward Moran, a fellow Scouser from Toxteth, sitting at the table, writing as letter, and Terry Benson, lying in his hammock, reading a dog-eared copy of Tit Bits. Both men looked up as Morris came in and sat down at the table.

  ‘What’s up, Towns, ‘as the old man sacked yer? Moran asked jokingly.

  ‘Maybe he’s caught you knocking back his gin,’ Benson remarked.

  ‘Why don’t you two fuck off,’ Morris retorted angrily, and stormed out the mess.

  As Manley closed the captain’s door he suddenly realised, that due to Penrose’s indisposition, he was now in command of the ship. The thought sent a sudden wave of anxiety running through him. As he arrived on the bridge, he realised he would have to do some quick thinking.

  ‘What’s wrong with the captain, sir?’ Jewitt asked.

  Manley suddenly became aware that all eyes of those on duty were looking at him. ‘The doc thinks he’s had a heart attack,’ he quickly replied. A look of alarm spread across the faces of everyone.

  ‘A heart attack!’ Jewitt exclaimed. ‘My God! How is he?’

  ‘He’s very poorly,’ Manley said. ‘Now,’ he added, ‘please ask the engineer officer to come and see me immediately.’

  A few minutes later, Lieutenant Logan came onto the bridge. Trickles of perspiration ran down the sides of his pale face and he was breathing heavily. His white overalls were stained with oil and he was busily wiping his hands on an old rag.

  Manley quickly told him about Penrose’s heart attack. ‘I’m now in command of the ship and it’s imperative the captain is landed at gib.’ He paused momentarily, and staring intently at logan, went on. ‘At present, we are doing twenty-five knots, I want to increase this to thirty,, and don’t worry, Derek,’ he added,’ I’ll take responsibility for your precious engines.’

  Logan’s face broke into a confident smile. ‘I understand, sir,’ Logan replied, ‘I’ll give you thirty and to hell with the engines.’

  ‘Thank you, Derek, pleased carry on,’ Manley replied. He looked at Jewitt and said, ‘pipe for the gunnery officer and navigating officer to come to the bridge.’

  A few minutes later Lieutenant Powers and Sub Lieutenant Baker came onto the bridge.

  Manley, who was now sitting in the captain’s chair, quickly told them about Penrose’s heart attack. He looked anxiously at Baker, and said, ‘If I increase speed to thirty knots, how soon could we arrive in Gib?’

  Baker turned, and after a quick consultation on his chart, looked over his shoulder and replied, ‘Tuesday, at roughly1900, sir.’

  ‘Thank you, Pilot,’ Manley replied, ‘kindly inform the doc, I’m sure he’ll be pleased to her that. Now, Guns,’ he went on, giving Powers a wry smile. ‘As I am now in command of the ship, you are now my first lieutenant.’

  Powers raised his eyebrows in surprise, and said, ‘But sir, the engineer officer is senior to me, surely he…

  Manley raised a hand and interrupted him. ‘Derek will be too busy in the engine room. Do you, think you can do it?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Powers replied confidently.

  ‘Good man,’ Manley replied, ‘now, keep close to me in case I need you.’

  ‘Very good, sir,’ Powers replied, wondering what his new duties would entail. ‘Signalman, send the following signals to Dulverton and Eridge.’ Manley watched impatiently as Tate took out a pad and pencil. ‘Say, “Commander Penrose taken ill. Manley now in command. Intend stopping at Gib, on 28th. Both ships to lay off five miles while Commander Penrose is landed. Increase speed to thirty knots.” Pipe for Sub Lieutenant Barlow to come to the bridge, please, QM.’ he added, feeling slightly uncomfortable in the chair that was now his.

  A few minutes later, the ship’s radio communications officer arrived. ‘Ah, Barlow,’ Manley retorted, ‘I have some important signals that have to go off immediately. The QM will write them down,’ he added, glancing at Tate. ‘The first is to the C-in-C. Portsmouth. “Commander Penrose suffered heart attack, Sunday 26th July. Condition serious. Intend land him Gibraltar, ETA Tuesday 28th. Please inform next of kin. First Lieutenant, Lieutenant Commander Manley now in command”. Repeat this to Captain Storey, Movements Officer, RN Barracks, Portsmouth. Next, to, the medical officer in charge, BMH Gibraltar. “Commander Penrose suffered heart attack today, Sunday 27th July. Intend landing him Gibraltar, ETA Tuesday 28th, 1900 approx. Request ambulance and doctor meet”. Last one, to, C-in C-Gibraltar. “Commander Pentose taken ill. Intend landing him Gibraltar, ETA Tuesday 28th, 1600. First Lieutenant, Lieutenant Commander Manley now in command. Request berthing instructions”. Do you have all that, Tate?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Tate answered, tearing off a sheet of paper from his pad and handing it to Barlow.

  Five minutes later, signals conveying best wishes to Penrose were received from Dulverton and Eridge. Shortly afterwards, Brownlow came on the bridge. ‘Message from C-in-C Gibraltar, “Wishing a speedy recovery to Commander Penrose. Berth South Mole”.’

  ‘Thank you, Daniel,’ Manley replied, then added, ‘the time is now 1600, Number One, I want to meet all officers in the wardroom in half an hour, after which I’ll address the ship’s company.’

  ‘Very good, sir,’ Powers replied. As he left the bridge, the pipe, “Secure, hands shift into night clothing. Duty watch fall in on the quarter deck”,’ echoed over the tannoy.

  After Power’s departure, Manley sat in the captain’s chair, staring out to sea. The events of the past hour had been so fast he hadn’t really had time to think clearly. The thought being responsible for the safety of the ship
and nearly two hundred people suddenly weighed heavily upon him. The gruff, Devonian voice of PO Len Mills brought him out of his reverie, unaware that news of Penrose’s heart attack had provoked more than a few worried looks between those on duty.

  ‘Beggin’ your pardon, sur,’ Mills said, ‘just ‘ow bad is the captain?’

  ‘Not too good, PO,’ Manley replied calmly, ‘but I’m sure the doctor will make sure he’s all right.’

  ‘Thank, ee, sur,’ Mills answered, who quietly added, ‘only we’re quite worried, like.’

  ‘So am I,’ Manley replied. He stared across at Eridge and Dulverton, who, like Helix, were speeding through the water, ending up a frothy bow waves curling over their bows. ‘Keep her steady on course, Jock, I’ll be in the wardroom if you need me’ he said to Jewitt, then easing himself off his chair, he left the bridge.

  In the wardroom the atmosphere, usually full of loud conversation, was subdued. A few officers were either sitting in the armchairs or standing about sipping tea, smoking and quietly talking. Thanks to Lieutenant Powers, they were all aware of the captain’s heart attack.

  ‘I say, sir,’ Midshipman Morgan said to Sub Lieutenant Milton, who was standing next to the Lieutenant Logan, smoking a cigarette. ‘Have you any idea how bad he is?’

  ‘I really don’t know, Mid,’ Milton replied. ‘But it must be serious for the doc to keep him in bed. What do you think, Derek?’

  ‘I think we’d better wait and see what the first lieutenant has to say,’ Logan quietly answered. As he spoke, the pipe, “Secure. Hands to tea. Shift into night clothing. Duty watch fall in on the quarterdeck”, came over the tannoy.

  At precisely 1630, everyone stopped what they were doing and looked as Manley, followed by Powers, came in to the wardroom. Those officers who were sitting in armchairs, placed their cups and saucers on a table and stood up. The rest stopped talking and remained standing.

  ‘Stand easy, gentlemen, and carry on smoking,’ Manley said, noticing the anxious expressions on some of their faces. ‘Now, I know you are all busy, so I’ll come straight to the point. Commander Penrose has suffered a heart attack and is confined to bed.’ He then paused to allow the severity of his words to sink in. ‘Consequently, the ship will be making a brief stop at Gibraltar, to transfer the captain ashore to the British Military Hospital. Our ETA at Gib will be approximately 1900 on Tuesday. In the meantime, I will be in command of the ship, and Lieutenant Powers will first lieutenant. Any questions?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Sub Lieutenant Milton, ‘who will be Captain D, now that Commander Penrose is ill?’

  ‘Good question, Ray,’ Manley replied. ‘Lieutenant Commander Petch in Dulverton is the next senior officer, but under the circumstances, I expect he’ll be guided by me until we leave Gib.’

  ‘Do you think there’ll be any chance of the mail catching up with us, sir?’ Sub Lieutenant Baker asked, wondering why he hadn’t heard from Wallasey’s chief constable.

  ‘I doubt if we’ll be there long enough, Pilot, but you never know…’ The events of the morning had overshadowed his worries about Laura, and Baker’s question made him hope there’d be a letter from her in Gibraltar.

  ‘Will the captain’s clothing be taken ashore when we reach Gib, sir?’ asked Lieutenant Goldsmith.

  This was something else Manley hadn’t thought about. ‘Another good question, Barry,’ he replied, ‘I er… expect Morris and Bamford will handle that. Anything else?’ he added, looking around. ‘Right, I now intend to address the ship’s company. Carry on.’ With Lieutenant Powers in close attendance, Manley left the wardroom and went onto the bridge.

  Ignoring the inquisitive looks in the eyes of those on duty, Manley unhooked the tannoy from the console. ‘This is the first lieutenant speaking,’ he said, doing his best to sound calm. ‘The captain has had a heart attack and is seriously ill. He is confined to his bed where he is being looked after by the surgeon lieutenant and SBA Bamford.’ He went on to tell them the ETA at Gib, and ended by adding, ‘In the meantime, anyone reporting sick are to see Chief Coxswain Barnes. That is all.’ He then replaced the handset.

  Thanks to Leading Steward Morris, who, having calmed down, had returned to the S and S mess, and told his mates that the captain was ill. The news of this soon spread around the ship. Nevertheless, Manley’s announcement telling them that Penrose had actually suffered a heart attack, came as a shock not only to Morris, but everyone else.

  ‘I ’ope the old man is OK,’ said Bob Rose, to Morris, who, like the others, was sitting at the mess table enjoying a mug of tea.

  ‘Me too,’ Morris quietly replied. ‘He was a gentleman, which is more than I can say for one or two of the other officers.’

  ‘And he always got us ‘ome safe and sound from those fuckin’ Atlantic convoys,’ Wiggy Bennett added, munching a piece of bread, spread judicially with plum jam.

  ‘Not to mention that dash from Tobruck with all them pongoes on board,’ added Knocker White.

  ‘Too bloody true, Knocker,’ muttered Dutch, as he pulled himself up on the overhead iron bar into his hammock, ‘too bloody true.’

  These remarks were repeated, not only by junior and senior ratings, but also the officers, and were indicative of the respect and affection they felt for Penrose.

  In the sick bay, Latta was checking Penrose’s blood pressure every fifteen minutes. At 1645 the systolic had risen from 160 to 180 and the diastolic had gone up from 100 to 120.

  ‘It’s this ache, Doc,’ muttered Penrose, placing a hand over his breast bone, ‘It seems to be getting worse.’

  ‘Try not to be worried, sir,’ Latta said, giving Penrose a reassuring smile. ‘I’m going to give you another injection. Meanwhile, keep taking deep breaths of oxygen.’ Ten minutes after giving Penrose the injection of morphia, Latta was relieved to find the pain in Penrose’s chest had subsided. Half an hour later, Latta decided it was safe to move him. With the help of Bamford, who was holding the oxygen cylinder, they helped Penrose from his chair into his sleeping quarters and onto his bunk. They managed to remove Penrose’s tropical clothing and had him sitting back, supported by pillows.

  ‘It’s the pain, Doc,’ he added, sitting forward, ‘it’s come back, and I can feel my heart pounding like hell.’

  For a few seconds, Latta thought that Penrose might die. What the hell could he do to slow down Penrose’s pulse and ease his pain, he asked himself; it was far too soon to give Penrose another shot of morphia, and to make matters worse, the oxygen level in the cylinder was low.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  During the move from the chair into the sleeping quarters, Penrose’s oxygen mask had slipped down and was now resting on his chin. Latta replaced this and said, ‘Lie back and keep taking slow, steady, deep breaths.’ It was then he remembered the Digoxin tablets.

  ‘Quickly, Bamford,’ Latta said. ‘There’s a small box in a side pocket of my bag, get it out and give it to me.’ Detecting a touch of panic in the doctor’s voice, Bamford quickly looked inside the bag and found the box. He passed it to Latta, who, feeling his hands tremble, opened the box and took out two white tablets.

  ‘Open your mouth, sir,’ urged Latta, ‘and swallow these,’ he added placing the tablets on Penrose’s dry, white-coated tongue. With the help of a sip of water, he managed to swallow them and closed his eyes.

  Feeling his own heart thumping, Latta checked Penrose’s pulse every fifteen minutes. Bamford, who, like his boss, watched and waited anxiously for the Digoxin to take effect. Their vigil was rewarded when, just after 1900, Penrose’s pulse began to drop from a hundred and twenty to a hundred, and the sharp pain in his chest was now a dull ache.

  ‘Cup of tea, sir?’ Bamford asked, watching Latta use a gauze swab to wipe away the beads of sweat from Penrose’s brow.

  ‘Good idea,’ Latta replied, ‘and give the captain a few sips as well.’

  Shortly after 2000, a knock came at the door and Morris came in carrying a tray containing two pl
ates of sandwiches.

  ‘As youse missed supper I thought youse could do with a bite to eat,’ Morris whispered. Placing the plates on a small, nearby table, he looked at Penrose, who appeared to be sleeping, then at Latta. ‘’Ow is the captain, sir,’ he asked, ‘we were all wondering, like?’

  ‘All right,’ Latta replied, while nodding his head in reverent acquiescence.

  ‘Thanks for the sarnies, Scouse,’ Bamford said, ‘I could eat a horse.’

  ‘Corn dog,’ Morris replied quietly, ‘the chief cook made ’em ’imself. I’ll be in the mess if yer want me, ser.’

  Shortly after night rounds, Manley gave a quiet tap on the door of the captain’s cabin and entered. The main area was in darkness and Bamford was slumped in an armchair, gently snoring. Manley tip-toed across the room, and after a gentle knock, then went inside the captain’s sleeping quarters.

  Penrose lay back in a wall of pillows. A towel draping over Penrose’s overhead light reduced the lighting to a minimum. An inflatable sleeve was wrapped around his upper left arm allowing his BP to be taken without disturbing him.

  At first, Latta didn’t see or hear him, as he was using his stethoscope to take Penrose’s blood pressure. Wearing a worried expression, Latta removed the stethoscope and saw Manley.

  ‘How is he, Doc? Manley whispered.

  ‘He’s holding up well, sir’ Latta replied, hoping Penrose wasn’t asleep and could hear what was being said.

  ‘Good,’ Manley replied, nodding his head. He gave Penrose a worried glance, then left the room.

  Throughout the night, Latta and Bamford kept two-hourly watches. At 0400, Penrose opened his eyes and gave a loud moan. ‘Please, Doc,’ said Penrose reaching across and griping hold of Latta’s hand. ‘It’s my chest, it feels on fire.’ As he spoke, small beads of perspiration appeared on the brow of Penrose’s ashen features, and trickled slowly down the sides of his face. Latta immediately gave Penrose another injection of morphia. Then, staring at his captain’s flickering eyelids, silently prayed for the pain in Penrose’s chest to subside. Latta’s prayers were heard and by 0600, the morphia had taken effect.