The Death of Hope

by Andrew Wareham

  “Shore leave for all hands and officers, Mr Canning. Leave a bare anchor watch, give all of the hands as long ashore as is possible. Defaulters included on this occasion. Have we any, by the way?”

  “Two, sir. Fell into an argument and struck each other. Dealt with it myself, sir, rather than risk it ending up in a court. Stupid business about which music hall singer it was who first sang some vulgar ditty. Both of them swore to hearing it for the first time – different places and people. Twenty minutes after rum issue and neither of them with a head for their tot. Bloody rum has no place in a steam navy, sir! Might have made sense aboard sailing ships where they needed strong arms and no sense for most of the men. No damned good for us on a ship using complicated machinery!”

  “Agreed, Canning. Nelson’s Blood – the spirit of the Navy! No arguing with that sort of stupidity. I presume you stopped their issue?”

  “Fourteen days, sir.”

  “Good. Might bring them to their senses. Far better than a court and time in a shore prison for assault.”

  “Can I ask what the word is on Higgins, sir?”

  “Nothing yet. Too soon. What do the hands think?”

  “Most of them have a sort of affectionate respect, sir, but no great admiration, if you can see the difference. They think it was a bloody daft thing to do. They think he’s bloody daft anyway, so it sort of fits.”

  “Unfortunate. Can’t have the lower deck noticing when their officers are stupid. Be no end to it!”

  Canning did not know whether Simon was serious, made no response.

  “I’ve put him up for the DSC, Canning.”

  “No choice, sir. It was a brave act. Unthinking, damned stupid and successful – all the qualities needed for a medal, sir.”

  Simon tapped his breast meaningfully and agreed.

  “That is not to say that all medal winners are necessarily foolish, of course, sir.”

  “Just most of them, eh, Canning?”

  They were interrupted by the coxswain.

  “Beg pardon, sir. Mr Higgins has just fallen over. Might be as well to get him to a doctor for that leg of his, sir.”

  “He said it was no more than a scratch.”

  “Bit more than that, sir. Still bleeding. Quite deep.”

  “Hospital. Quickly.”

  The report came back that the wound had been cleaned, foreign bodies removed and fourteen stitches applied. Mr Higgins was to remain in hospital for a day in case of infection.

  “My fault, Canning. I should have known better than to expect sense from that young bugger!”

  Simon visited the hospital, cornering the doctor in charge of Higgins and enquiring how long he must be ashore.

  “When will he be fit for sea duty, sir?”

  “Three weeks would be best, Captain Sturton. A nasty wound, jagged lacerations. Not too deep and no damage to bone but needing time to knit together.”

  “Can he go home? Convalescent leave?”

  “Best place for him. His mother will give him better care than we can.”

  “I shall see what can be arranged. Thank you, Doctor.”

  Next stop was SNO’s offices.

  “Young Higgins, sir. They’ve just put fourteen stitches into what he said was a scratch on his leg. The doctors want him off for three weeks at least and say he would be better off at home. I would like a replacement for him, if possible, sir, until he is fit to serve again.”

  “Necessary, Sturton. If he is wounded, he must be looked after. I shall arrange transport for him at soonest, get him out of the hospital, clear a bed. Where to?”

  “London, sir. I have an address for him.”

  “Well done. Consider that dealt with. A replacement, now… Not so easy if it is to be a temporary posting.”

  “If he is promoted, then a destroyer is not the best place for him as an inexperienced lieutenant, sir.”

  SNO grinned.

  “You don’t want him back.”

  “Not as a lieutenant, sir. Too great a chance that Canning might be promoted out - or killed, of course – and he might have to step up to First, which he could not do. He lacks the knowledge and does not have the ability to learn quickly. As a lieutenant, he will be a liability, wherever he is, unless he is given a very small boat of his own, perhaps.”

  “So be it, Sturton. The Coastal Motorboats will be in service in a few months. He can be put across to one of them, to take one of the first and learn how to handle it with a sensible AB at his side. I will put that forward, a strong recommendation, at soonest. Might be able to swing it. I know he is a special case, though why has not been vouchsafed to me…”

  It was time to make the admission, to confirm SNO’s obvious surmise.

  “I have a strong suspicion, sir, but have been ordered to keep my mouth firmly shut. I might say Dirty Bertie, sir, as long as there was nobody to hear me.”

  “Oh, Lord! Another one of those! Why they must be dumped on the Navy, I do not know. I served with one of that sort years back, must be thirty years ago now, as a midshipman. He was in fact a competent sailor. That was fortunate, as he was a post captain before he was thirty!”

  “This one is slightly different, sir. The lower deck has the expression ‘thick as two short planks’. We tend to say ‘wooden-headed’, I believe.”

  “Well put, Sturton. Let us assume you have a permanent replacement. How do you want to go about it?”

  “Not perhaps to trawl for the aristocracy, sir!”

  “Unlike your Campbell-Barnes, eh?”

  “Exactly. I have a sub, McCracken, who is due his step and young Waller, the mid, is a yachtsman, crewing since the age of ten, and well capable of receiving his commission. A bright midshipman would be ideal, sir.”

  SNO shook his head with ponderous humour.

  “Can’t guarantee that, Sturton. How about one who is less daft than Higgins?”

  “An acceptable compromise, sir.”

  “I need confirmation from Harwich before I can put McCracken up, Sturton. That should take no more than a couple of hours, you being a blue-eyed boy! I will come aboard myself in late afternoon to give him the good news in person and lead the mid aboard – don’t want the poor lad getting lost in a foreign land, after all. You may inform Waller of his step.”

  All very simple, in fact.

  SNO took pleasure in promoting McCracken, telling him what a good chap he was, and meeting Sublieutenant Waller, bursting with joy at his rapid step, and then in producing the new body.

  The new midshipman was a wartime volunteer, lacking knowledge of naval habits and traditions, yet well capable of learning the ways of a destroyer at sea for having experience of small craft. Mr Pinkerton was regarded as an asset, despite being Scotch; he had no barbarous accent to mock, was able to fit in quickly.

  “What do I do if Mr Higgins comes back, sir?”

  “Stay here as an extra hand, Pinkerton. Mr Higgins will be moving to pastures greener, we may be sure. If he returns at all, it will only be for a month or two.”

  The wardroom was crowded and Waller, who now had a cabin rather than a cupboard to sleep in, much hoped that Higgins would not be seen again. He took pains to assist Pinkerton to learn the trade and fit in, hoping he would be seen as obviously more useful.

  “You seem to know your way about. Where have you sailed before, Pinkerton?”

  “On my uncle’s trawler, sir, which I liked. I intended to join him as a deckhand, leaving school as soon as possible. My father is a civil servant, first one of the family to leave the fishing. He had been to the University first. He is very respectable now, promoted a long way, and does not want me to go to sea as a common fisherman, so he arranged for me to join the Royal Navy.”

  The word was passed rapidly, the boy was a small boat man off the Arctic trawlers. It helped, especially when he showed competent and willing to work as Lancelot led the half-flotilla on a series of fruitless patrols outside Dutch waters, parading up and down the coastline a careful four mi
les out to sea, making it clear that there would be no inadvertent straying over the line.

  A fortnight unbroken other than for oiling and Simon was called to SNO’s office.

  “Intelligence reports that the Hun has stopped running ships along the coast, because you are there, Sturton. A useful blockade. Look out for torpedoes – they are almost bound to send submarines after you. Commendation for Lancelot for shooting down the seaplane, by the way. Much approved of. Mr Higgins – Lieutenant Higgins, that is – will not be returning to you. He is still on sick leave, probably for some weeks yet, the wound having become infected. Nothing too serious, slow healing, that’s all. When he is fit for duty he will be sent to Chatham to work up a torpedo boat, one of the new, small sort, as you recommended. He has his DSC. You will not see his face in the newspapers, surprisingly enough! I am to inform you that the powers that be are pleased with you for your handling of the boy. If he does well in his coastal boat, he will be promoted and sent out to Washington as assistant to the naval attaché there. No actual work to do, just showing off his English accent and being aristocratic at dinner and dance. Good chance a millionaire’s daughter will lay her hands upon him and provide him with a meal ticket for life – young and a hero, what more could they ask for, especially when they get a sniff of royal blood!”

  “And the privileged will look after their own again, sir. Why should I complain? I am one of them, after all.”

  “In a way, yes, Sturton. You have, however, made your own success. Rather different to young Higgins.”

  It was comforting to be told that he was respected in his own right.

  “What do we do about these damned submarines, sir?”

  “Avoid them. You may be taken into Chatham for a month or two to have depth charge rails fitted. A sort of bomb to be heaved off the stern, exploding under the surface. If you can drop them on top of the submarine, you will do it no favours. That does, of course, mean you have to locate it first, underwater.”

  “I have been told of hydrophones, sir.”

  “So have I, Sturton. How they work, how you use them, I do not know. For the while, keep a good lookout for torpedoes, especially when there is a full moon and no cloud. They don’t fire at night otherwise and you might be able to see their tracks in daylight. With luck.”

  The destroyers had masts, essentially decorative structures, the fore being for signals, the after mast having no obvious function at all. The Admiralty liked its ships to have masts – never knew when they might come in handy and a ship wasn’t a real ship if it didn’t have one, or two.

  “Coxswain, we can expect to be attacked by submarines, I am informed. With torpedoes. What’s the chance of reinforcing the after mast and putting a lookout up high?”

  “None, sir!”

  Westerman was in no mood to tolerate nonsense from his captain, thought it wiser to end any foolish ideas he might have.

  “That stick will not take the weight of a man however many guys we rig to it, sir. It serves to fly a flag when we go into battle, assuming we hoist such colours for some reason that amuses an admiral, sir.”

  “Pity. More possible to spot a torpedo if the lookout is at high.”

  “Can’t be done, sir. The masts are not for practical use, sir. Wireless and signals to the fore, mainmast, strictly speaking, sir. Nothing to the mizzen.”

  “Well, it was a thought. I shall require extra lookouts in the day and on moonlit nights, Coxswain.”

  “Put one up on the Maxim bandstand, sir. That will give a little height.”

  “Limited vision.”

  “Yes, sir. Nothing forrard, full scan port and starboard and astern. Two men in the bows, at low speed, that is. Two bridge lookouts. Will it make sense to have one in the stern, sir?”

  “If we are not in company, yes. No great gain if we have the half-flotilla behind us.”

  Five pairs of eyes, all fairly close to sea level, unlikely to spot a torpedo at any range.

  Simon called the three captains to conference.

  “If torpedoes are seen, comb the tracks. Turn towards and present a bows on target rather than the beam. Full speed. That is obvious enough. What else?”

  “Zigzag, sir. Never holding a straight course for more than say five minutes at a time. Make it difficult to take an aim.”

  Travis of Lightning making a sensible suggestion.

  “Each ship to maintain its own zigzag so that at any moment some will be port of the mean course, others may be starboard. Make it unpredictable. An end to the line astern at a rigid two cables.”

  Campbell-Barnes shook his head.

  “Won’t be popular with admirals, sir. Any senior captain seeing us doing that will blow his top. Untidy, sir. Not allowable. Far better to be sunk by a torpedo than to vary from the line, sir.”

  “Accepted – the more rigid gentlemen will be unable to tolerate such a breach of decency. I do not doubt I shall be threatened with a court should any of the more senior observe such a lapse from proper standards. I prefer to take that risk rather than invite an almost certain sinking. Intelligence is sure that we will be targeted by submarines. Very likely that they will attack from the safety of Dutch waters.”

  “What can we do about that, sir?”

  “Nothing. Under no circumstances will we ever stray by so much as an inch into Dutch waters. You will lose your ship if you do – no appeal, no argument. You will not venture into Dutch waters, will not shell any German vessels spotted there. You will be broken if you do. So will I. It is an absolute, I am afraid – no leeway at all. The Dutch know that German ships are breaking the rules, and that British ships are not. They are building up their own navy and training their army. By next year they will be able to enforce neutrality. For the while, they appreciate that we are scrupulous in our observance of their rights and it is useful to us. I am told that interned British soldiers are being sent home, supposedly on medical grounds but actually because the Germans have annoyed them. Escapees from prison camps are being put directly onto ships to England, no questions asked. Add to that, the Dutch are aiding Americans to enter Belgium and report on conditions there. We must not jeopardise Dutch goodwill.”

  The three acknowledged Simon’s words, promised to be good.

  A month of barren patrolling and the half-flotilla was ordered back to Harwich, told to prepare their demands for the dockyard. Simon was again given a meeting with Tyrwhitt, further evidence of favour.

  “We have four weeks of dockyard time for you, Sturton. At Chatham. Pulling out the Maxim and replacing it with something that will be effective as a high-angle gun as well as for normal use. What, I don’t know. They are undecided as yet. Might be a two-pounder pompom. Could be a three inch, a twelve pounder quickfirer. All depends on what is to hand on the day. The three inch has the advantage that it can be used against Zeppelins, having a far greater range than the pompom.”

  “I’ve never seen a Zeppelin, sir. We have met seaplanes more than once.”

  Tyrwhitt knew that, wondered how they had managed to shoot one down.

  “I am fortunate in my Gunner, sir.”

  “And no more to be said, Sturton. You did well. For the moment, the important thing is leave. I want you to take at least three weeks, Sturton. Patrolling almost every night is fatiguing. Dangerous to the health. Put the ship in the hands of your Number One – you have told me he is a good man – and disappear, Sturton. Between us, we will arrange for your whole crew to get at least a fortnight. Commission has come through for your Engineer, Mr Malcolm. You may lose him as a result, of course. There is a shortage of skilled men in the yards and there are new ships being launched every month. He may end up in a cruiser or as senior in a flotilla of the new sloops coming off the stocks. Always possible he may be given to one of the new monitors – several of them in the building and some of them far better designed than the originals.”

  “Swings and roundabouts, sir. Give with one hand…”

  “Take with the other. I know
. Can your Canning be made?”

  “Yes. He could command a small ship now, will be capable of something far larger in a year or two. An able man indeed.”

  “Then you will lose him. I will appoint a good youngster in his place. Don’t worry about that now. Go and make arrangements to go off tomorrow.”

  “I will need to send a telegram, sir.”

  “My office will deal with that for you and bring any reply across.”

  The Parretts responded within the hour. Simon was welcome indeed.

  “Packer! Three weeks leave, you with me. Off to Ipswich first. In the morning.”

  All would be ready.

  Alice Parrett was waiting with the gig when he arrived at the station.

  Chapter Six

  “Orders, sir.”

  Richard thanked the runner from Brigade, sat down below the lip of the trench to read the single sheet of paper. The battalion was to push forward, must take the bunkers before nightfall. The battalion to their left had experienced unacceptable casualties, coming up against uncut wire, would not be moving forward. Reserves would be moved up to secure the left flank as soon as they became available.

  “Not a bloody chance! Major Vokes!”

  Vokes came at the run, alerted by the edge in Richard’s voice.

  “Take your two companies and A and B and set up a perimeter to the left. The flank is wide open at the moment. Use communications trenches for a starter. Bring wire up. We are under orders to take the bunkers to our front. I will not move until our flank is secure.”

  Vokes nodded and ran.

  “Runner!”

  A boy appeared, carrying his Lee Enfield.

  “Leave the rifle here. I need you to run hard.” Richard scrawled a message to Braithwaite. “If you lose the message, the verbal is that we need artillery on the bunkers. They cannot be taken without support.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The boy ran, skipping across the old no man’s land. Richard wondered just how old he was. His voice was broken; if he thought he was eighteen there could be no argument.