Black Prince returned to course, a brief note in the log saying only, ‘spoke Swedish barque Helga off Irish coast’.
Holmes spoke to Christopher later, looking much ruffled and calling for a brandy.
“Captain was a bit shirty, Adams! A lot of damned fuss and nonsense for a neutral! Nothing to concern ourselves about there, I would have thought.”
“There are a few commerce raiders out, Holmes. Not many and far less of a worry than the submarines might be but we need to keep an eye out for them. Not likely to be sailing ships, I will admit.”
Holmes was hardly placated; he thought he had done well enough that there was no need for the Captain to abuse him. He supped his brandy and calmed down, Christopher doing little to ease him. He had better things to do than calm the ruffled feathers of the incompetent.
“Off Londonderry, sir, by thirty miles. Course change for Bass Rock.”
“Very good, Adams. Make it so.”
Christopher gave the orders. They had seen no signs of submarines off the Irish coast and were not displeased to be on their way out of waters that might contain such unpleasant beasts. The likelihood was too high that the first indication of a submarine might be the plumes of water rising as its torpedoes struck their hull. All of the advantage lay with the hidden boat in the absence of any means of detecting them underwater.
The north of Scotland was far less stormy than normal and they made the anchorage at Scapa in good condition, entering through the Hoxa gate and saluting more than twenty ships senior to them before taking up an anchorage next to Duke of Edinburgh, of the same class as them.
“Connaught not here, sir?”
“In the yard, I believe, Adams, for the guns. Our turn when she comes out. Chance for leave then, as well.”
That led to a problem needing a deal of thought. Leave, three or four weeks away from the ship. Would he be welcome in London? There was no alternative to a letter home to his father. He sat to write, discarding half a dozen attempts before settling on a short and simple piece of information.
‘Lord Adams,
Dear sir,
I am now Navigating Officer of Black Prince, armoured cruiser, attached to the Grand Fleet at Scapa Flow. I have attained the rank of lieutenant commander, substantive. Promotion and posting and a Mention followed on a successful action in the Red Sea.
There is an expectation of leave while Black Prince is in the yard for an alteration to her guns. May I know if I will be welcome in your house?
Your son,
Christopher Adams.’
He thought it likely that his father would be fully informed about his circumstances, had to write on the assumption he would know nothing. It was not easy. He dropped the letter in the tray to go to the censors and then to the post. The Commander would read the officers’ letters himself, not leaving that task to the Seaman Writers in his office, for fear of their mouths. Even so, he did not like exposing his private business to the world in such a fashion.
Four days later, effectively return of post bearing in mind how isolated Scapa was, he received a reply. It was difficult to open the letter. He did so, annoyed to observe his own hands trembling.
A brief opening confirming that his father was aware of his career in the Mediterranean and had been made proud by it. Then to the meat of the letter.
‘You are welcome indeed to the family home, Christopher. Your eldest brother and I will be pleased to greet you again, particularly in the light of the way in which you have overcome your troubles. Your brother Arthur is in residence as well, currently, having been wounded in Flanders and requiring some months of recuperation; it is possible that he may never again be fit for active service, having been shot to the stomach and then exposed to poisonous gas which has harmed his lungs.’
“I say, Commander, what utter bastards the Germans are! My brother, a couple of years my elder, home from Flanders and effectively crippled by the inhalation of poison gas!”
That was very bad, the Commander agreed.
“Huns indeed, Adams!”
It was no way for gentlemen to fight a war, not white men! It had been argued that poison gases might be used against the wogs and fuzzy-wuzzies, savages who were strangers to the rules of war, but it was no way for the civilised to behave.
The news spread around the wardroom, was greeted with the utmost contempt. Such behaviour was simply wrong. It was a crime.
“Should try the Kaiser when the war is won and hang him! No way to treat a gentleman, you might say, but using poison gas is no way for a gentleman to behave!”
There was a restrained agreement with Crewe. Hanging a monarch was outside of the normal way of doing things, they admitted, yet his conduct had been criminal, a disgrace to the human race.
“Off to Queensferry, eight bells in the Morning Watch, Adams. Eight weeks, at least, in the dockyard. Leave for all those entitled, which includes you. As you are Navigator, with little to do in the yard, you may take four weeks. Give you the chance to show your face in Town again. Been away so long you will have been forgotten, I expect.”
“Third son and naval, little reason to recall me, Commander. No prize for an eligible daughter and years before I can think of getting married. Don’t know what I shall be doing after the war, in any case – no naval career for me.”
The Commander was aware – had to be in his position in the ship – of Christopher’s disgrace and rehabilitation.
“Bound to be something in the City, Adams, bearing in mind your family.”
“Possibly, Commander. Might be I would look overseas for a living. I expect the family will have interests in the States, even in Australia, where I could be useful – and not so stuffy as the Stock Exchange!”
The senior officers were sat in their own circle, in comfortable armchairs, slightly removed from the lieutenants and subs who made a noisier set, laughing and joking at the prospect of leave. The wardroom had slowly eased itself away from wartime austerity, the first enthusiasm waning and padded furniture reappearing. They no longer expected to descend into wild battle at any minute.
“Be glad to take the train south, Commander. A few weeks away from this bleak corner of the Earth will be more than welcome.”
“Less than ideal as an anchorage, Adams – I cannot call it a harbour! In these days of wireless, I do not know why we are not dispersed along the coast in ports from Aberdeen south to Hull. It would be easy to set a rendezvous in the North Sea or off Norway and the ships and crews could be far better looked after.”
The Victorian minds of the Admiralty demanded that the Grand Fleet must be held together, each ship within sight of the Admiral’s signalling mast. Command must be exercised by flag signals – that was the proper way of organising one’s ships.
It was very sad, all agreed. On the other hand, it was a magnificent sight – the lines of battleships, two dozens of dreadnoughts at any one time, and cruisers and the flotillas of destroyers, all at anchor and just waiting to leap out into the ocean to defeat Britannia’s foes.
“A great pity that the High Seas Fleet will not come out, gentlemen. They are spoiling a damned good war!”
It was all the fault of the Germans and their appalling, lame-brained Kaiser, that was clear to every officer.
“Makes one wonder if we are not better off, Commander, having politicians running the country rather than a Kaiser like they have.”
That was going rather far. The Commander agreed that King George, God bless him, was not a ruler in the sense that the Kaiser was; that was not the British way. Even so, some of the politicians were rather dubious sorts… There was Asquith, who was a gentleman, and Lloyd George, who was not. More than that need not be said! Add to that, there were the Irish, who were a damned nuisance in the House of Commons, and this new Labour Party, which was an embarrassment though unlikely ever to be significant.
“Damned fellow wore a flat cap into the House, Adams!”
Christopher agreed that was very bad. If the man
could not afford proper morning dress, then at least he could find a frockcoat and silk hat and pretend to be a gentleman. He understood this McDonald fellow had actually worn a lounge suit as well!
That was simply disgraceful – next thing, he would be open-necked!
They considered that possibility, decided it was too much – no respectable man could descend to that level of depravity.
“He has to win an election, after all, old chap. Can you imagine conceivably voting for a man without a collar and tie? What would we do if we saw an officer in that state?”
Christopher had no doubt they would escort him below, place him in the hands of the Doctor who would hold him safe until they could send the poor fellow ashore to a secure asylum.
It made them uncomfortable even to consider such a descent from decency.
“Saw it on the merchant cruiser, Fanny Brown, you know, Commander. The first lieutenant, reservist, of course, off duty and sunbathing, of all things! On the deck with his shirt wide open to take a tan!”
They were almost amused, it was so outlandish.
“He is a Canadian, mark you. Merchant service this twenty years. Had some hopes to be given his own ship. Can you imagine what sort of captain that would be?”
They could not, sympathised with Christopher for the hardships he had suffered.
Black Prince steamed into Queensferry, beneath the great bridge and into the hands of the dockyard. Everything valuable was locked away, the officers clearing their cabins and the stewards taking ashore all alcohol from the wardroom. The yard hands were renowned for their light fingers, would steal anything that was left unguarded.
Christopher took all of his navigating equipment, down to the last pencil, and placed it in the safe in the Commander’s offices.
“Past experience, sir. I was on Iron Duke when she was fitting out, as a sub. I saw what happened there. Couldn’t stop the thefts, no matter what we tried or how many we caught and placed under arrest. Gunmetal, bronze and brass fittings and valves disappeared damned near as fast as they were put in place. At one stage we had pickets on the engine rooms, searching every dockyard matey as they left the ship. They seemed outraged that we stopped them – ‘perks’ they said it was. Tradition, they had always done it, believe it or not! Led to a strike once when we put six of them in front of the magistrates and saw them sent to gaol.”
The Commander shook his head while agreeing that he had seen the same, more than once.
“Should have the yards under military discipline, Adams. While we employ civilians, no telling what they will get up to.”
It was obviously so.
“Won’t be like this in Germany, I will wager!”
Christopher did not know. Considering the Prussian reputation for discipline, he had to admit it was unlikely.
Two days and he was off on leave, taking the night sleeper south, enjoying peacetime standards of luxury – the LNER did not believe in austerity for its passengers. There was much to be said for a leisurely dinner followed by a nightcap of best single malt Scotch before retiring to a comfortable bunk. Breakfast running through the Home Counties and then leaving the train with a whole day ahead of one – ideal for a businessman and comfortable for an officer with the money to afford it. Christopher took pains not to notice lesser mortals emerging from the carriages where they had dozed upright in their seats.
There were still taxis available for the relatively few who emerged from the sleepers; the rest of the passengers used ‘buses or the Underground.
It was a delight to return to the world of privilege that he feared had been lost forever.
The butler welcomed him and nodded to a limping footman to collect his luggage – not much, a mere pair of suitcases as he must visit his tailor as a matter of urgency.
“My father at home, Buckley?”
“In his study, sir. You are to go to him.”
Not so easy, readying himself for the first meeting. He squared his shoulders and glanced at his uniform to see all was proper before pacing down the hallway and knocking before entering.
“Christopher! Good to see you home, boy! You are thinner than you were, I think.”
“The Red Sea, sir. It pares away every ounce of excess flesh.”
“Never been that way, myself. It has a bad name. It saved yours, however – well done. You should have had more than a Mention, as you know. Not to worry! What’s past is past and your brother Jeremy is aware of his foolishness! Won’t see him while you’re here – he has been working in the Party and has been sent off to America as a junior minister to discuss trade. After that, he’s bound for Canada with his delegation, talking about wheat, I gather. Good for him! I am still somewhat upset with him for destroying your naval career! He should have known better, damned fool!”
“A mistake, sir, made with no ill-intention.”
“Good of you to say so, Christopher. I have been thinking about your future, I would add. Can’t be in the services. Could be in motor vehicles. Cars. Going to be thousands of them on the roads after the war, bound to be. Not a deal of money in making them, I suspect, but a fortune in looking after them. Seems to me that we will need a garage in every town, more than one for some places, selling oil and petrol, and offering repair and maintenance. A countrywide network all selling our own fuel by arrangement with the big oil companies. I would not be surprised if we ended up with three or four hundred garages across the country, with the chance of each one making a thousand or so in profit! It would need a keen young brain in charge, part of the modern age, not an old hangover from Victorian days such as myself. What do you think? A damned good income for you and a money-spinner for the family.”
“What an excellent idea, sir! A lot of work, especially in the early years, but well worthwhile. I would be more than glad to assist, sir.”
“Hoped you might!”
“What of Arthur, sir? Will he be up to a busy life?”
The Viscount’s face clouded. He shook his head brusquely.
“It’s a quiet existence on the estate for him, Christopher. He might be sufficiently active to do some of the work of running the farms. Chances are he will spend his days sitting out on the balcony, looking out over the hills. It’s all he can do to walk downstairs from his room to sit at table. His lungs are gone. He might just recover to be able to sit a horse – I don’t know and neither do the doctors. He must spend most of his life in the clean air of the countryside, that is a certainty.”
“Is he out of bed during the day?”
“Not at this time of the morning. Another couple of hours before you will see him downstairs.”
“How did he come to be in the firing line, sir? I had thought him to be on the staff.”
“He was, doing rather well and set up to become major very soon. There was a report that the Germans were advancing under the cover of poison gas – chlorine, I believe – and that the men were breaking before it. His general did not believe it, could not imagine that even the Hun would stoop so low, and Arthur volunteered to go forward and discover the reality. It would seem that he found out the hard way.”
“Poor chap. No such thing as a gasmask, is there?”
“They exist, the Germans have them! None have been issued to British forces. I am told that the possibility was canvassed and was turned down as too expensive – a quarter of a million masks initially and an ongoing supply of as many again each year. At least forty thousand pounds.”
It was a large sum of money, Christopher admitted.
“It is nothing, Christopher! We are spending as much as a million a day already, purely on the war! It might be more, probably is, but the accounting systems have failed under the strain. How much is being syphoned off into private pockets, God alone knows! We are short of shells for the artillery and the Navy both; even basic items of uniform are not always available; prices are rocketing, as far a government contracts are concerned. Nothing to be done about it, either! Lloyd George will have no part in a policing of
the system, says we must accept a little of criminality as the price of a massive expansion of production.”
“I presume, sir, that means he is taking a cut himself?”
“Some, undoubtedly. He mostly accepts other sorts of favours – the man is sexually insatiable, it seems!”
“Unpleasant, sir! One generally expects that sort of thing to be conducted discreetly, not in the apparent open view of all in Whitehall!”
“Not quite that bad, Christopher. Nearly so. Not our sort at all, Lloyd George. Strange thing is, he is also honest in his determination to improve the lot of the ordinary man. I speak to him most weeks in the way of business and there can be no doubt of his integrity in that way. A man of two personalities, one might say. I do not understand him, at all.”
The Navy had left Christopher with a fine sense of right and wrong, of black and white; he could not comprehend a person who was both.
“Beyond me, sir. What of you, sir? If you will pardon me prying, have you ever considered taking another lady? My mother has been dead these ten years now, sir.”
“No. Thought about it, Christopher. Cannot bring myself to do so. I was happy with your mother, as you know. A once in a lifetime experience, I would suggest. In my fifties now – no time to set up house again! Good of you to be concerned, my boy. I have suggested to Jeremy that it is more than time that he regularised his existence – he needs to produce an heir. Arthur will hardly do so now. You are at sea and in a dangerous occupation, it seems, bearing in mind the losses the Navy has suffered.”
“Not on Black Prince, sir. A cruiser who will be accompanying the Grand Fleet if she goes into action. Protecting the battleships by picking off the torpedo flotillas and their accompanying light cruisers is our role. Always a bigger target than us to attract enemy fire, sir!”
Chapter Three
“Your half-flotilla will take station back in your old hunting grounds, Sturton, just outside Dutch territorial waters off the Scheldt. Placing yourself ready for action by about an hour after nightfall, earlier if there is cloud cover and rain to reduce visibility, crawl down the coast towards the site of the bombardment, off Zeebrugge. We are using the new monitors for the first time. Heavy guns, old twelve inch taken from predreadnoughts, poor engines – almost as if they were large scale Humbers. Don’t know what the end result might be. We want you in place to pick up anything that comes down from the north, from any of the small ports. Thing is, Sturton, we don’t quite know what might have worked its way down to the Belgian ports. Might be small, fast gunboats; could be torpedo launches; might be coasters given some armour and with a couple of guns bolted on; possible that there is a larger merchantman or two set up as conventional merchant cruisers; sure to be converted trawlers. Depends what was in harbour when they were taken.”
The Death of Hope Page 4
