by Murray Pura
“I can call you Chief for short.”
“Chief I like.”
She began to return his kisses, slowly at first and then with increasing strength and ardor. “Do you like my holystoning, Commander?” she murmured, kissing his lips again before he could answer.
“I do,” he finally managed to get out.
“Will I receive a medal or a promotion?”
“Indeed you will. Promotion to our private chambers.” He scooped her up in his arms and she began to giggle, burying her face in his chest. “Effective immediately.”
“I like Christmas shopping,” she said as he carried her up the staircase.
“So do I. You never know what sort of gifts you’ll find that’ll catch your eye. A few bob and they’re yours for life.”
“A few bob?”
“A figure of speech, Lady Libby.”
She put a finger on his lips. “Shh. No more talk and no more joking.”
Their eyes came together and the mirth died in his throat. “As you wish,” he said in a quiet voice.
Christmas Eve, 1934
Ashton Park
“Right!” cried Kipp, a glass of eggnog in his hand. “One more carol and then I have an announcement to make! Jane, you start! Oh, here we come a-wassailing…”
Here we come a-wassailing among the leaves so green;
Here we come a-wand’ring so fair to be seen.
Bring us out a table and spread it with a cloth;
Bring us out a moldy cheese and some of your Christmas loaf.
God bless the master of this house likewise the mistress too,
And all the little children that round the table go.
Love and joy come to you, and to you your wassail too;
And God bless you and send you a Happy New Year,
And God send you a Happy New Year.
“What’s the announcement?” asked Terry in a loud voice. “Are you finally joining the navy?”
Kipp pointed his eggnog at Terry. “Closer to heaven. I’m back with the RAF.”
“You’re not.”
“I am. The Air Ministry has a number of new planes on the drawing board and I’ve been asked to join the crews that test the prototypes.”
“What happens to the airline?” asked Edward. “You’re not giving it up?”
“We are. Dad and Mum know about all this so it’s no surprise to them. I’ve been doing more and more paperwork and less and less flying. It’s time to get my boots up off the ground again.”
“That doesn’t sound very safe. Put a good ship under your feet and you’ll be as solid as the Rock of Gibraltar.”
Kipp laughed. “Don’t want to be solid, Terry. Want to be footloose and fancy-free and up with the angels.” He struck the dramatic pose of an orator, his eggnog behind his back.
I know that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above;
Those that I fight I do not hate
Those that I guard I do not love;
My country is Kiltartan Cross,
My countrymen Kiltartan’s poor,
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.
Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public man, nor cheering crowds,
A lonely impulse of delight
Drove to this tumult in the clouds;
I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.
“Bravo!” Terry clapped along with the rest of the family in the library. “But you and Yeats could have chosen a cheerier theme than your ‘lonely impulse of delight’ and ‘waste of breath’ and ‘balance with this life, this death.’ What a dreary set of lyrics you’ve planted in your beautiful wife’s head.”
Caroline smiled and nodded. “Thank you, Terry. I do wish we could do some sort of roundabout and head back to the carols and more rousing lyrics.”
“Rousing lyrics? You want rousing lyrics?”
“Now you’ve done it.” Libby shook her head. “You’ve brought out the sailor in him.”
Terry was on his feet. “I have a Royal Navy song that will shake the woolies out of you all and warm Caroline Danforth’s heart as well. Where is Owen?”
Twelve-year-old Owen, half a foot taller than he had been in the summer, jumped up from his spot on the floor. “Here, Uncle Terry.”
“Come, join me, lad. You’re a proper tar, ain’t ye?” growled Terry, imitating an old sea dog.
“I am, Commander, I am.” Owen hurried to his uncle’s side. “What song is it?”
“You’ll see, you’ll see. Ahem. Let me clear my throat.”
“For heaven’s sake, Papa, what’s in the eggnog?” asked Emma.
“Eggs,” replied Lord Preston. “Eggs and a bit.”
“Here we go, Owen, weigh anchor!” cried Terry.
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Come, cheer up, my lads, ’tis to glory we steer,
To add something more to this wonderful year;
To honor we call you, as freemen not slaves,
For who are so free as the sons of the waves?
“Do you have the hang of it?” Terry asked Owen.
“Yes, sir, I know the song. Da taught me the words and Grandpa sings it when we sail in the Channel.”
They say they’ll invade us these terrible foe,
They frighten our women, our children, our beaus,
But if should their flat bottoms, in darkness set oar,
Still Britons they’ll find to receive them on shore.
“Right!” called Terry to the others in the room. “You all must know the chorus!”
Libby was laughing and tugging on his arm. “Horatio Nelson, we’re supposed to be singing Christmas carols.”
“In a minute, in a minute, my love. Please, all of you, join in.”
Heart of oak are our ships, jolly tars are our men,
We always are ready; steady, boys, steady!
We’ll fight and we’ll conquer again and again.
“Not bad, not bad. Another verse and then the chorus again, if you please, Master Owen.”
“I’m with you, sir.”
Britannia triumphant, her ships rule the seas,
Her watch word is justice, her password is free,
So come cheer up my lad, with one heart let us sing,
Our soldiers, our sailors, our statesmen, our king.
Heart of oak are our ships, jolly tars are our men,
We always are ready; steady, boys, steady!
We’ll fight and we’ll conquer again and again.
Lord Preston stood and clapped. “Hurrah! Now we must do our best to find our way back to Christmas again after having been boarded by Nelson’s best. Capital singing, young Owen. And capital singing deserves a capital ship. Come, mother, where’s the gift?”
Lady Preston looked up from her chair. “What gift is that, William?”
He moved toward the large pine tree hung with colored balls and bright with electric lights. “The one for Owen, of course. Whom have we been talking about?” He waded through boxes wrapped in red and green tissue paper. “Confound it, we have enough here to sink a ship. Where is it?”
Tavy stepped up to the tree. “The one in blue, my lord. Blue for the navy, y’see.”
“Ah. Very good, Tavy.” Lord Preston fished the box out of the heap of gifts and presented it to Owen. “Here you are. Merry Christmas, my boy.”
“It’s not Christmas, William,” mumbled Lady Preston.
“One present on Christmas Eve. Just the one. Family tradition, my dear.”
Owen hesitated, looking from his grandmother to his grandfather.
Lord Preston thrust the box into Owen’s hands. “Come, come, young man, never spurn a gift at Christmas.”
“Thank you, Grandfather. Thank you, Grandmother.”
“
Well, open it, boy, open it.” Lord Preston waved his hand at Owen. “Let us share in your joy.”
“Yes, sir.”
Owen peeled back the paper and opened the box while everyone watched and the children crowded around.
“It’s a ship!”
Owen laughed and held it high.
“A ship! A wooden battleship! Does it float?”
Terry came over quickly. “That’s the Hood! Why, I stand here all the time.” He pointed to a part of the deck near one of the gun turrets. “In fair weather or foul.”
Lord Preston pressed his way in to Owen and Terry. “Teak and mahogany. The fellow would go down to Portsmouth and make sketches and photographs and then do the carving and gluing and painting in his studio in Brighton, you see.”
“It’s brilliant, absolutely brilliant. Look at the detail. Here, Jane. You’ve stood on this spot two or three times while we were on parade.”
Jane, taller than any of the boys as well as many of the adults, and looking at least five years older than her seventeen years, remained seated by Caroline and Charlotte. “I can see from here, Dad.”
“No, you can’t. How can you? Can you see over all these heads?”
“I can, actually.”
Terry went back to his huddle with Lord Preston and Owen and the younger boys. “Can we put it in a tub of water?”
“You cannot.” Lord Preston was horrified. “It’s meant for dry land display. If you want to go to sea, set foot on the real thing.”
“I shall do. But can we put this somewhere grand with a light on it and just give it a good gaze?”
“Well, it’s Master Owen’s, isn’t it? But while it’s here at Ashton Park perhaps he’ll let us set it up on the great shelf under the oil of the Victory.”
“Is there anything for me?” Colm suddenly asked. “Do I get a Christmas Eve present too?”
“Hm? What’s that?” Lord Preston looked at five-year-old Colm, Owen’s brother, as if he had just woken up from a dream and was seeing him for the first time. “Of course, of course.” He mussed Colm’s black hair. “Everyone receives a Christmas Eve present. We just need to find one with your name on it.”
“I’ll take care of that, Grandpa.” Peter, one of Jeremy’s and Emma’s twins, jumped up from his seat. “I like playing Santa Claus.”
His ginger hair and bright green eyes made his face vivid as he grinned and held up a box wrapped in red paper. “Who’s Colm Alexander the Fifth?”
Colm looked up at Lord Preston.
“Come, come, no one wrote that.” Lord Preston pointed his finger at the present and waggled it. “Read precisely what it says.”
“Half a minute.” Peter turned to his twin brother, James, with his brown eyes and dark hair. “D’you have a pen on you?”
James was wearing a navy blue blazer with an Eton public school crest. “Hang on.”
Jane smiled and poked James. “Faster.”
He plucked one out of the inside pocket of his blazer and handed it up to his brother. “Here we are.”
“Cheers.” Peter winked at Jane. “Santa could use an elf.”
Jane laughed. “Elves are short.”
“So you’ll count as three of them.”
She got up. “All right. You have such a clever way of putting things.”
“As clever as he is, I’m even more clever,” said James.
She flashed a smile at him as Peter was writing on the tag on the present.
“Ignore him,” said Peter without looking up.
“I have no intention of ignoring either of you. You’re much too much fun.”
“Even if we’re not bashing you over the head with a sword anymore?”
“Pardon? Who bashed who?”
“We let you do that because you were the only girl.”
“Indeed? I think it’s because I was older and stronger and smarter, don’t you?”
Peter held up his hand and wiggles a few fingers. “You’re only older by a few months.”
“Come, come.” Lord Preston clapped his hands together. “We could have had the real chap down from the North Pole by now. You can squabble later over cake and hot cider.”
Peter lifted the present. “It says Colm Alexander the Fifth right on it. Do you want it or not?”
Everyone in the room laughed but Lord Preston.
Colm looked up at his grandfather a second time. “Is it mine?”
“Yes, it’s yours, my dear. You’d better run and get it before they write King George the Fifth on it and give it to him.”
Colm seized the box and tore the paper off. “It’s a ship! It’s a ship! It has guns too! And it’s almost as big as Owen’s!”
Lord Preston laughed. “In real life I believe it’s bigger. HMS Rodney, Colm, my boy. But no bathtubs, all right? And no floating it on the pond.”
“No, sir, it will be a carpet ship.”
“Very good, a carpet ship, ha ha.”
Jane, wearing a red gown and bracelets, gave people their presents while Peter, in a white shirt and Eton school tie, handed them up to her as he rummaged through the boxes under the tree, often scribbling something on their tags. Soon Cecilia, at five, the daughter of Kipp and Caroline, had a dollhouse. Matthew, at twelve, and his brother Charles, at thirteen, Cecilia’s brothers, both had large models of airplanes. And Billy, younger brother to the twins at fourteen, had a brass microscope. The adults wound up with socks and shoes and ties, and Jane was given a necklace by James and a bracelet by Peter.
“How on earth can you two afford gifts?” asked Jane, immediately putting the necklace about her throat. “I thought you were both pinching pennies for Christ Church at Oxford.”
“So we are,” responded James. “But faint heart never won fair lady.”
“ ‘Faint heart never won fair lady.’ Oh, James, don’t talk such rubbish.”
“I’m serious. That’s my class stone, y’know. It’s real garnet.”
“And the necklace is garnet too.” Peter punched his brother in the shoulder. “Not to be outdone.”
James pushed him. “You’re always outdone and outgunned. Give up the ship while you still have breath in your lungs.”
Jane slapped them both playfully on the tops of their heads. “No one gives up ships in my family. Remember, my father is commander on the Mighty Hood.” She slipped the bracelet on her right hand. “Ohhh, it’s rather large.”
“Eat more cake,” teased James. “Eat till you puff up properly.”
“Thanks very much, Sir Galahad, I won’t. Perhaps I should stick with Peter from now on so I don’t think of myself as the fatted calf.”
“Hear, hear.” Peter clapped his hands. “I concur completely. Throw the scoundrel out on his ear.”
James tossed a wad of wrapping paper at him. “I’d like to see you try, Hercules.”
Libby laughed, watching them from across the room. “Aren’t the three of them sweet together, Mum?”
Lady Preston nodded and sipped at her tea. “I enjoy their antics. But the twins are practically men now. They can’t both pop the question.”
“Oh, Mother, surely it’s just a bit of fun and games, isn’t it? No one’s thinking of marriage.”
“Why, your father was at seventeen. Oh, yes. I put him off for three years but he never took the hint.” She smiled. “No matter. It’s turned out for the best.” Peter and James were chattering away, one on either side of Jane. “I shouldn’t mind at all if one of them did pop the question.”
“Surely they’re more family than anything else, Mum.”
“Family they are. But to my mind it’s a second- or third-cousin relationship. James and Peter are eminently suitable to wed Jane Fordyce. Especially since we are nobility.” Her gray eyebrows came together sharply as she smiled again. “Just not both of them at the same time.”
The Nelson Room
The men drifted upstairs to the Nelson Room, the ladies to the Rose Room. The younger boys and Cecilia stayed in the library wit
h Harrison and Holly, and Peter and James and Jane decided to go for a walk in the rain. Kipp lit the fire in the Nelson Room while Edward glanced over the large wooden model of the Victory, Horatio Nelson’s flagship at the Battle of Trafalgar in 1805.
Jeremy took a seat. “Fancy being back on the high seas, Edward?”
Edward immediately turned away from the model. “Hm? No, no.” He poured himself some hot cider from a teapot. “Just admiring the handiwork.” He took a chair next to Lord Preston. “That ship you gave Owen is extraordinary. Well, they both are, Dad, Owen’s and Colm’s. Thank you.”
Lord Preston tapped his hand on his armrest. “You’re most welcome, my boy, most welcome.” Abruptly he turned to face his son. “Have you ever thought of returning to sea?”
Edward was startled, pausing as he lifted the cup of cider to his mouth. “You’re joking.”
Lord Preston kept tapping his hand on the armrest. “Germany is rearming. They’ve broken the Treaty of Versailles. Heaven knows what Hitler intends to do in the long run.”
“Dad, he’s just restoring pride in the German people. You said yourself the terms of the Treaty were too harsh. A few planes, a few ships…what’s the harm?”
“This Graf Spee they launched in June, this Panzerschiff, it’s a powerful warship.”
“It’s within the ten thousand long tons limit—”
“I’m afraid not.” Lord Preston struck the armrest several sharp blows. “Her full load displacement is over sixteen thousand tons. She carries six eleven-inch guns in two triple turrets. It takes less than the fingers I have on one hand to count the number of French or British ships that could catch her and sink her.”
“Who’s talking about catching and sinking her? She won’t be finished for another year. And even when she is—”
“She’ll be capable of more than twenty-nine knots—fifty-five kilometers an hour.”
“Dad, honestly. They’re getting ready for the Olympics, not another war.” He looked around the room for support. “We know what it means to have national pride, don’t we? I mean, we’re sitting here in the Nelson Room, for heaven’s sake.”
“They’re laying down two more battleships in the spring.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do know that, Edward. I even know the names that will likely be used—Scharnhorst and Gneisenau.”
