The Old Navy

by Daniel P. Mannix

  From an American point of view, the English seemed to vacillate between ultra elegance and extreme coarseness. One evening there was a state ball at Buckingham Palace, which we were asked to attend. En route I witnessed what, to my Yankee eyes, was an extraordinary spectacle. It was before the days of automobiles and all the feminine guests arrived in open carriages. There was a tremendously long line of them advancing at a snail’s pace frequently being halted to permit the unloading of the carriages at the head of the line. In the carriages, in plain view, were the ladies in all the glory of their jewels and ball dresses. These dresses were incredibly elaborate with long trains that dragged behind them when they walked and which they lifted by means of a loop suspended from their right wrists when they danced.

  The sidewalks were jammed by an enormous crowd. The carriages, when they stopped as they frequently did, could easily have been touched by the front rank of the crowd. Each time the carriages halted people in the crowd proceeded to make audible comments concerning the dresses, morals, and probably private lives of the ladies. All of these comments were coarse and many were extremely vulgar. Listening to these foul-mouthed ruffians, I was strongly tempted to interfere on the part of the ladies even though I realized the futility of such behavior.

  To my surprise, the ladies paid absolutely no attention to this abuse. They sat bolt upright (I never saw an English woman slump in her seat) looking straight ahead and occasionally exchanging some remark with their carriage companions. They did not seem even conscious that the toughs existed. Amazing.

  In the palace, we were presented first to the King and then to the Queen. The presentations were quite informal. We simply lined up in order of rank and, as each man’s name and rank were announced, he entered the room where the King was receiving, bowed, shook hands and passed on.

  Unlike the Kaiser, King Edward didn’t put on a bit of swank. He greeted us pleasantly, simply, just as any host might have done. Cal O’Laughlin, a newspaper man who was present, gave the following report of my presentation: “When Lieutenant Mannix was presented His Majesty looked closely at the decorations on the breast of this gallant young officer who is well known as trainer of the gun crew on the Kearsarge which made a world’s record (thank you, Cal!) and asked several questions about them.”

  Immediately afterwards we were presented to the Queen; we didn’t shake hands with her, simply had our names announced, bowed, and passed on. Although her children were far older than any of us junior officers, there wasn’t one of us who did not promptly fall in love with her. Not only was she beautiful but she seemed surrounded by an aura of goodness. One couldn’t conceive of her doing anything mean or spiteful or anything that could possibly hurt anyone’s feeling. I wish some of these alleged “social leaders” who enjoy snubbing people could have seen how a real lady behaves. There is all the difference in the world between cheap imitations and the genuine article.

  There was one small contretemps. I have said the ladies wore long trains that dragged on the floor. Many were stunningly lovely and one of the midshipmen was so smitten by a fair young peeress that he stood goggling at her, unconscious of the fact that he was standing on her train. The lady tried to move, found it impossible, and said with a rising inflection, “I beg your pahdon.” The middy continued his rapt gaze without moving. Once more she repeated, “I beg your pahdon!” with increasing emphasis. As the middy still remained hypnotized, the lady, taking a firm grip with both hands on her train, gave it a quick jerk. Luckily the wall was near; otherwise the middy would have executed as neat a back handspring as he ever did in the Academy gym. The lady, calm as ever, and still with that rising inflection, said, “Thank you,” and swept away.

  Shortly afterward, a gentleman wearing a field marshal’s uniform and an impressive row of medals, on the right of which was the Victoria Cross, spoke to me and inquired pleasantly if I was an American. One look at his face and I knew who he was: it was Lord Roberts of Kandahar, the famous Bobs of the British Army. He had won the Cross during the Sepoy Rebellion in India. He and Kitchener together put an end to the Boer War, the graveyard of so many military reputations. He was not very tall and slightly bow-legged; a typical cavalryman. There was nothing blustering or “hard boiled” about him; “gentle” would be a better description. I often remember him when I see some high-ranking officer who thinks he has to adopt a bullying, aggressive manner to show how “tough” he is. Bobs was a genuine hero yet he could not have been more gracious.

  Several of the high-ranking British officers put themselves out to make sure our visit was pleasant. I have mentioned Sir Berkeley Milne, the King’s ADC who had been thrown out of Cliveden by my fellow countryman, Mr. William Astor. On hearing that I was interested in military memorabilia, Sir Berkeley kindly offered to show me around the Royal United Service Museum in Whitehall. It is a fascinating place, once the Banqueting House of Old Whitehall Palace. In January 1649, King Charles stepped out of a window there onto a scaffold where he was beheaded.

  There were all sorts of things in the museum; many Nelson relics, the trumpet that sounded the Charge of the Light Brigade, medals and uniforms. I was astonished to see an American flag in one case. I went over to examine it and read on a card, “Flag of the USS Chesapeake”.

  Every American school boy knows the story of that flag. During the War of 1812, Capt. James Lawrence of the Chesapeake was challenged to a frigate duel by Captain Broke of the British ship Shannon. Lawrence had newly been put in command of the Chesapeake, had never seen her under sail, and had a raw crew, many of them merchant sailors who had never seen a gun fired. However, he felt compelled to accept Broke’s challenge. After a desperate encounter, Lawrence was mortally wounded and carried below shouting, “Don’t give up the ship!” After his death, the crew were forced to strike and the Chesapeake was captured.

  Seeing my interest, Sir Berkeley said, “Some time ago, the flag was sold at auction. A number of us planned to purchase it and return it to your country as a tribute to a brave man and a brave crew. Unfortunately, we were outbid.”

  I wondered who had been determined to keep this heroic and pitiful relic from coming home. I went closer and read the name of the donor. In small letters on a card was, “Presented by William Waldorf Astor, Esq.”

  Later, Sir Berkeley told me that the incident was greatly resented in England. He asked me how Americans felt about it. I told him no one had heard about it. “I am glad of that,” he remarked.

  The next afternoon I attended (by official request) a large luncheon given by a group named “The Pilgrims”, which was devoted to the laudable purpose of cultivating good feeling between England and America. There were a number of young British officers there who, quite obviously, had also been “requested” to grace the occasion. There were a long series of speeches almost identically worded: “Hands across the sea; blood thicker than water,” etc. Sitting next to me was a British lieutenant of about my age. At the end of each speech we both applauded loudly as was our duty until finally my English counterpart remarked to me casually while clapping, “What rot! As everyone knows, what we’d really like to be doing is fighting each other. Here’s to a sudden plague, a bloody war, and quick promotion! Let’s get out of here.” This we proceeded to do, crawling on our hands and knees so we wouldn’t be seen from the speaker’s table.

  After a few drinks at the Junior Naval and Military Club in Piccadilly, we went to the Gaiety. A musical comedy was playing which was typical of several I later saw. The hero was almost invariably a naval officer with a comic sailor orderly who was certain to be referred to as a “disorderly”. From there we went to the Empire, a popular music hall. In addition to tumblers, dancers, a magician, and a singer, there were two really excellent ballets. There were certain features of the Empire that were quite as interesting as the performance. One was the Promenade, a wide space back of the seats where the ladies of what someone has called the “demi John�
� strolled back and forth exhibiting their costumes and charms. At one end of the Promenade was a long bar presided over by a typical British barmaid, the first I had ever seen. She wore a semi-uniform black dress, very high in the neck, that fitted like the “paper on the wall”; her figure was, well, it was the kind you see in the illustrations of Physical Culture magazines; she may have been thirty and was blonde; dazzling blonde.

  However, I wasn’t so dazzled that I couldn’t see the lady was able not only to look out for herself but was also quite capable of “looking out” for anything that took place at the bar. Any gentleman who had had “enough” was eased out in a fascinating and affectionate manner that left him charmed and also left him with the cold night air blowing on his face.

  There have been several instances of barmaids becoming peeresses and, I believe, they made very good peeresses indeed.

  Another interesting feature of the Empire was the ushers; they wore uniforms and must have averaged about seven feet tall. In addition to being ushers they were also “bowlers out” (the English for bouncers). They performed their bowler out duties with a suavity utterly unknown to our New York bouncers. For example, while throwing a gentleman through the door, they never failed to call him “sir”. It is little touches like this that make the British such a cultivated people.

  That evening, a group of young fellows, for no particular reason, insisted on sitting on the backs of their chairs with their feet on the seats. A uniformed Goliath of horrific proportions approached them and suavely observed: “I am afraid, gentlemen, that those seats are a little weak.” Everybody got down except one man. Goliath waited a moment and then lifted him in his arms as though he were a baby, carried him, in his seated posture, out the door and deposited him, still in his seated position, on the curb. Then straightening up and daintily dusting his hands (as they do in the comic strips) he said: “Now, sir, you’re hout. STAY HOUT!”

  After the last show, my new-found friend suggested we visit an establishment with which he was familiar where, he assured me, the ladies were of the very highest type; in fact, a number of them had been recruited from the nobility. I suppose this may have been true as at the time it was almost impossible for an upper-class woman to find employment, except possibly as an old lady’s companion or a governess, if she had the misfortune to have no money and no male relative who would give her a home. There was even a saying that the only two careers open to a lady were those of a wife or a prostitute. “The last time I went to this house, it was with a friend,” said my fellow lieutenant. “The madam said she would pick out two nice girls for us so we went upstairs to our separate rooms. My girl arrived and we were about to settle down to business when there was a knock on the door. My friend called, ‘I say, old chap, would you mind exchanging whores with me? I seem to have run into an aunt of mine.’”

  Not wishing to encounter anyone’s aunt, I declined his kind invitation and we parted on the best of terms. He was an extremely nice fellow and I was delighted to have made his acquaintance. Unlike Mr. Harriman, I have never had any prejudice against the English except for their arrogant assumption that their navy is as good as ours. My lieutenant friend, by a coincidence, was in command of a turret gun crew as I was and very proud of his men. I am sure they were an excellent lot but I would have been interested to see what they could do against my crew who established the world record with our 8-inch guns. It has always been one of my greatest regrets, as I think it is with all Regular Navy men, that in 1918 we did not go to war with Great Britain instead of Germany; there was some talk of it due to the British blockade of the Continent and their stopping American ships. The Germans were brave men and good sailors but the English Navy after all was — to use their own phrase — “the First Fifteen” against which all other navies were measured. It would have been a great feather in our cap if we could have beaten them.

  The following day we attended a luncheon given by the Lord Mayor of London at his official residence, The Mansion House. To those who may be interested in such things, I give the guest list as such affairs no longer exist:

  Sir R. Awdry, K.C.B.; Mr. Henry White, United States Embassy; Admiral the Honorable Sir Edmund Freemantly; Right Honorable Sir Joseph Dimsdale, Bart., K.C.V.O., M.P.; Alderman Sir Joseph Savory, Bart.; Admiral Sir Henry Stephenson, G.C.B.; Admiral of the Fleet the Honorable Sir Henry Keppel, G.C.B., O.M.; Honorable Chauncey M. Depew; Lord Rothschild, G.C.V.O.; the Lady Mary Howard; the United States Ambassador and Mrs. Choate; The Lord Mayor and the Lady Mayoress; Admiral Cotton; Captain Prince Louis of Battenberg, G.C.B.; Mrs. Walter H. Levy; The Duke of Norfolk, K.G., G.C.V.O. (Earl Marshall, and a Knight of the Garter, no less); Right Honorable James Bryce, M.P. (Former Ambassador to the United States and author of The American Commonwealth;) Senator Gorman; Alderman Sir Henry Knight; Mr. Arnold-Forster, M.P., Secretary to the Admiralty; Admiral Markham, Commanding at the Nore; Captain Sir George Vyvyan, K.C.M.G., Deputy Master of the Trinity House; Colonel Sir H. Hozier, K.C.B.; Mr. J. Pierpont Morgan, Junior; Sir Henry Irving, the famous actor; Sheriff Sir Thomas and Lady Brooke-Hitching; Captain the Honorable Hugh Tyrwhitt (in the World War he distinguished himself as a cruiser and destroyer commander); Commander Godfrey Faussett, Equerry to Vice Admiral His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales.

  In offering the various toasts the Lord Mayor would rise to his feet and say: “Your Serene Highness, Your Highness, Your Grace, Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen.” After he had repeated this several times, Ensign George Steele, who sat near me, began pretending to listen intently and each time the Lord Mayor reached the “Gentlemen” part of it, George would whisper loudly, “Hurrah! He remembered me!”

  The “Serene Highness” present was Prince Louis of Battenberg, father of the present Lord Louis Mountbatten, who is a rear admiral and commanded the “commandoes” in World War II. I don’t remember who the “Highness” was; “Your Grace” referred to the Duke of Norfolk.

  To my astonishment, most of the junior officers with our fleet were reluctant to attend the luncheon and would far rather have spent their time playing cards together or chatting in the wardroom mess. I simply cannot understand how anyone would want to pass up such an occasion. To me, meeting representatives of foreign nations and seeing new sights is one of the great attractions of a naval career yet I have seen officers who have traveled around the world and never bothered to look out a porthole at the wonders around them. When I reached command rank, I had often to order junior officers to attend important functions and meet foreign people.

  It may be felt that I am a snob. I freely admit that I was interested in meeting at this luncheon several officers of the First Life Guards, the most “swagger” regiment in the British Army. At that time a second lieutenant in the Guards, to maintain his position, was obliged to have a private income of at least three thousand dollars a year to pay for his gorgeous uniforms and gold lace. Kipling contemptuously referred to them as the “fatted flunkies of the Army”. Virtually everyone had a title besides his military one; “Major the Earl of So and So, Captain Sir Something, Bart., Lieutenant the Honorable This and That”.

  Twenty years later I was in Constantinople and the Household Brigade of the British Army was stationed there. I looked over the list to see if I could recognize any old acquaintances. Among all those names there were only two or three who had titles.

  Where were all those young earls and baronets and honorables? They were dead. Most of them had died in August 1914 during the terrible retreat from Mons when the old British Regular Army virtually ceased to exist. They were not “fatted flunkies” there. Outnumbered a hundred to one they had recoiled step by step, taking a terrific toll on the enemy and giving the Allied troops behind them a chance to organize and prepare for what was coming. I am proud to have met them.

  There were a few American girls at the luncheon and a large number of English women, many of them most attractive. My fellow officers paid no attentio
n to the English girls and spent all their time with the Americans who were pleasant enough but no different from the girls we had all known at home. I concentrated on the English girls and had a delightful afternoon.

  There was a minor but annoying incident, I have spoken of the Sampson-Schley controversy that developed after the Battle of Santiago as to which commanding officer deserved the credit for the victory. During the course of the meal, an English officer rose and politely proposed a toast to Admiral Sampson “the victor of Santiago”. It was drunk and the officer sat down, whereupon a young American lieutenant rose and said in a loud voice, “I demand that this officer now proposes a second toast to Captain Schley!”

  This lieutenant had served on Schley’s ship and was a devoted partisan. There was a dead silence and then Admiral Cotton said sharply, “Sit down!” Some of the other junior officers pulled the man down and conversation quickly began again. Of course, the English had no idea what it was all about; one army officer told me later that he thought the young fellow was attempting to voice a personal grievance.

  To show how insular many even high-ranking officers were at this time, I was ordered to report to the admiral the morning after the luncheon where I received an “admonition in the course of duty”, in other words, an official reproof for spending so much time with “foreign women”. When I was finally dismissed, the admiral called after me as I left his cabin, “and this time, Mannix, don’t miss the ship when we sail” — a remark I considered totally unnecessary.