An Officer and a Gentleman Wanted: A Romantic Comedy

by Beverley Watts

  Chief May follows the last cadet in and comes in to my office to ‘report’ (generally involves a cup of tea and a custard cream – it’s no wonder I can’t lose weight).

  He reports no major catastrophes (which means basically that no one fell in…)

  1225 Andy marches in to my office after a curt “Wait outside,” to someone I can’t see – I’m assuming that it’s one of his students and my heart sinks – I was hoping that we’d get to week 3 before I had to start dishing out lectures.

  Apparently one of the cadets fell asleep during the lesson. (Nothing new there really.)

  Andy brings him in to my office for said lecture.

  He’s a Qatari so it’s no use starting with the softly, softly approach – you know, try to appeal to their sense of pride and how important it is to their families that they do well, blah, blah, blah…

  I cut straight to where it hurts most.

  I tell the cadet that he will not be allowed to leave the College this weekend.

  That means no trip up to London.

  Fate worse than death.

  I ruthlessly cut him off before we get in to the “But ma’am my mother/father/brother/uncle/4th cousin is flying over especially to see me this weekend and I absolutely have to get to London.”

  As he trails disconsolately from the room looking as though he might cry at any minute, I go into the ILO to tell John my decision (and to forestall any appeal in that direction).

  See, I’m not always a push over…

  1230 I don’t feel like going to the Wardroom for lunch so I take Nelson out for a walk instead. Despite my bravado, I really don’t like disciplining the cadets but I know from experience that it has to be nipped in the bud.

  If you give them an inch, they take a mile (or a flight home).

  1330 The language school is peaceful and quiet. I take a deep breath for a second then let it out slowly. I can hear the murmur of teachers working on their lessons and the occasional shout from the rugby pitch but that’s all.

  Bliss.

  As a general rule most Middle Eastern Internationals seem to regard sport in much the same vein as the prospect of eating pork – with absolute horror.

  Nevertheless, this afternoon the International Cadets in English Language Training are being shown the ropes, taken through their paces and impressed upon that the Wednesday afternoon sporting options do not include going to bed!

  I wonder how HRH is going on…

  1710 I got loads done this afternoon and am consequently feeling very virtuous as I walk towards the car.

  Only one of the internationals attempted to get out of afternoon sports by hiding under his bed which I think is actually pretty impressive. That makes 2 of them staying on board this weekend…

  1715 I filter in to the ferry queue resolutely ignoring the chap in the car behind me beeping his horn furiously because I got in first (I’m tempted to flip him a finger but really don’t want to be dragged out of the car by a possible axe wielding maniac suffering from ferry rage…)

  1725 Still in the ferry queue. I close my eyes and prepare myself for a spot of meditation (mostly because every time I inadvertently glance in my rear view mirror I have an up close and personal view of the potential maniac still glaring at me in the car behind).

  I can feel a headache coming on.

  Thursday 17 September

  0800 I have my overnight bag because I’m staying on board tonight due to the first ‘Happy Hour’ of the term.

  These usually take place about once a month and are a chance for all the members of the Wardroom Mess to get together, have a bite to eat and a drink.

  Mostly drink – hence the overnight bag.

  Negotiating The Corridor with a holdall and Nelson in tow is no mean feat.

  I stand for a moment at the entrance near to the Chapel and juggle my overnight bag, handbag and dog.

  Nelson looks at me and I swear he has a grin on his face.

  Ok, handbag on right shoulder. Overnight bag in left hand. Nelson on very short lead being held in a death grip in my right hand.

  I’m ready to go.

  Within 10 feet the handbag has fallen off my shoulder straight on top of Nelson’s head who goes down as if he’s been pole axed (it’s only got my make up in it…)

  I’m within a hairs breath of going the same way, complete with probable broken ankle and/or serious head injury, but at the 11th hour my survival instincts kick in and I let go of everything.

  Nelson goes tearing off down the corridor with his lead trailing behind him.

  Unfortunately my hand bag is still attached to said lead and consequently my makeup, mobile phone, car keys, hair brush and other contents of the offending bag (oh God is that a tampon?) are now littering the corridor behind him…

  There’s no alternative: I grab my overnight bag, take off my shoes and stuff them inside. Then I zigzag down the corridor in my stocking feet picking up my belongings.

  Anybody watching will think I’m either drunk or doing the salsa (probably both).

  The only positive is that the skirt I’m wearing today is well below my knees (well it was when I started).

  It’s also still early so no one is around to witness the commotion and Nelson knows where he’s going.

  By the time I get to my office I feel as though I’ve done a 200 metre sprint – come to think of it, I probably have. I collapse into my chair and glare at Nelson who is busy scratching behind his ear with complete unconcern.

  I’m definitely wearing trainers next week.

  1030 I head to the Quarterdeck for Shareholders. Sarah and I are taking the opportunity to discuss life defining issues such as which cabins we have been allotted for tonight; what we intend to wear to the happy hour and whether she has remembered to bring a bottle of wine complete with screw top and 2 glasses to help with the ritual of getting ready. (After the fiasco this morning I give thanks that I didn’t attempt a dog, an overnight bag, a hand bag and a bottle of wine.)

  I look around for Rob but can’t see him milling around the quarterdeck or waiting in the coffee queue.

  I am actually really disappointed

  That’s definitely a sign.

  I hope he’s going to be at the happy hour tonight.

  1050 I get back to the Language School to find the 2 Qataris banned from leaving the College this weekend waiting outside. Knowing that any appeal to my better nature could actually take awhile, I tell them to go in to class and I’ll see them before they go off to lunch.

  The hope in their eyes makes me feel like I’ve just given them a last minute reprieve from a death sentence.

  The College really isn’t that bad…

  1225 I sit and listen to the excuses as to why they fell asleep in class/spent Wednesday afternoon under the bed which, as far as I could tell with their limited English, (did I say we’ve got a long way to go?) revolved around having been tired due to spending an inordinate amount of time on their homework the 2 evenings before.

  “Did you actually finish the homework?” I ask, knowing full well neither had handed in any of the homework set for this week.

  “Of course ma’am,” they assured me earnestly, hurt that I could ask such a thing.

  “Then I’ll speak to your teachers tomorrow after they’ve had chance to mark your work and I’ll make a decision then. Come and see me during your break tomorrow afternoon.”

  “But tomorrow is Friday ma’am.”

  I nod my head and mention how pleased I am that they can remember the days of the week in English. Then, ignoring the slightly panicked look in their eyes which confirms what I already know about the homework front (and before they can give me any more ‘buts’), I dismiss them and turn back to my desk trying hard not to smile.

  They really are very sweet.

  1630 It’s been a long afternoon. We’ve had 3 more students fall asleep in class which brings us to a total of 5 staying in the College over the weekend and to finish the afternoon off nicely, it appe
ars that HRH has misunderstood slightly the role of the British cadet assigned to him. John had to explain at length and with lots of hand waving that said cadet’s duties do not include steam cleaning HRH’s silk shirts…

  1640 I definitely need some fresh air so I decide to call it a day and take Nelson out for a bit of a jaunt seeing as he’ll be spending the majority of his evening snoozing in my cabin.

  1700 Nelson’s business taken care of, I give Sarah a quick ring to tell her I’m heading up to my cabin.

  The sleeping accommodation at BRNC is situated high up in what only can be described as a long narrow attic accessed through a maze of corridors which are almost impossible to find unless you know where you’re going, so after this morning’s performance I decide to make this a 2 stage operation – first taking up my bags then coming back down to the office for Nelson.

  10 minutes and at least 200 calories burned later I’m finally sitting in my cabin getting my breath back.

  The good thing about the fact that the guest cabins are so high up is that you do have a fantastic view over the Parade Ground and the River Dart from the majority.

  On the negative side, if you suffer from claustrophobia, you’re very likely to have the worst night’s sleep of your life. The cabins could not be described by even the most tolerant critic as ‘hotel accommodation’. A closer description would be Prisoner Cell Block H complete with 2 foot beds and scratchy woolen blankets covering starched cotton sheets that are tucked in so tightly you need a crowbar to extract yourself. And don’t forget the communal bathrooms…

  All very character building.

  Just doesn’t bode well for a good night’s sleep (especially when sharing your bed with a dog who could give Beethoven a run for his money).

  To be fair, consuming copious amounts of wine before getting into bed doesn’t help either.

  I decide to have a nice hot bath while I’m waiting for Sarah.

  I’ve been lucky with my cabin selection this time and getting to the nearest bathroom only involves a 50 metre sprint as opposed to an exercise that would do justice to an episode of Mission Impossible in order to avoid half the College sniggering at the sight of me in my dressing gown.

  And the baths are actually in private cubicles – another bonus.

  I remember when I was pregnant many eons ago and the nurse asked me if I wanted a nice hot bath to relax me. What she didn’t tell me was that the cavernous bathroom was actually a short cut for all the doctors and nurses working in the maternity ward. So I sat like a beached whale in 6 inches of tepid water making small talk to every Tom Dick and Harry passing through in a white coat.

  It was the longest half an hour of my life. The bath was in the middle of the room and my towel was about 20 feet away – it might as well have been in another country.

  Memories…

  I only spend 20 minutes in the bath. The Happy Hours usually kick off about 18.30 plus I’m gagging for a glass of wine.

  I get back to my cabin to find that Sarah bless her has already pre-empted me and a large glass of rosé is sitting waiting for me on the window sill. Nelson is already snoring, taking up 90% of the bed – he’ll only rouse himself now for his dinner and a last wee.

  Oh to be a dog.

  1830 I take a last critical look in the mirror. I think I’ll pass muster.

  I’m wearing black Capri pants with my favourite black and white heels - ok they’re not quite Jimmy Choo (more New Look really) but they make my ankles look really good! And over the top a simple fitted white shirt showing a little bit of cleavage – mostly it has to be said because the button won’t do up over my chest.

  My makeup is subtle – I’m going for the ‘girl next door’ casual look (which as we all know takes half a ton foundation and a 20 week course in cosmetic science to achieve…)

  But you know what? The end result is pretty good if I say so myself.

  1835 Sarah and I are ready to head down to the Wardroom after finishing off the bottle of wine (obviously a crime to waste it).

  It is in fact possible to get nearly all the way to the Wardroom from the guest cabins without actually stepping foot on The Corridor – it does take twice as long but nevertheless substantially increases the probability of arriving at your destination in one piece (providing you don’t fall down the stairs of course.)

  1845 I push open the door and stand for a moment watching all the uniform staff milling around the Wardroom with its stunning backdrop of the River Dart and Dartmouth in the distance below and reflect again how lucky I am to be able to work (and play) in such amazing surroundings.

  “Hey Bev, Sarah what are you drinking?” Instantly snapping out of my reverie, I turn towards Sam, the cute new Training Executive Officer (otherwise known as TXO) waving at us from the bar.

  Let the fun begin…

  Most social functions at BRNC really are great fun, particularly as the one thing that Naval Officers are good at (of course it’s not the only thing) is small talk. Diplomacy is a vital part of their training and it’s essential they remember that they are representing the British Government at all times and in all situations (never seems to put a damper on their alcohol consumption though –see, there’s another thing they’re good at).

  Sarah and I spend the next hour chatting (ok maybe flirting just a little) with several officers while taking advantage of the chips laid out on the bar (starting the diet on Monday – can’t possibly begin at the weekend).

  Rob hasn’t arrived yet and as my cunning plan consists of looking as though I really don’t give a hoot whether he’s there or not, I resolutely turn my back on the door…

  1950 Damn it Rob still hasn’t arrived – beginning to think he’s not going to show. CSO Anna is here (which goes to prove that at least they’re not joined at the hip)

  I keep glancing towards the door. Although I’m obviously trying to do it unobtrusively (which is really difficult when you’re facing the opposite way). I sense the officer I’m chatting to is beginning to think I’ve got a particularly severe nervous twitch.

  2000 At last success. Rob has just walked through the door. He’s wearing his number 2s signifying that he’s Officer of the Day. His lateness is explained – he’s been inspecting the cadets.

  He looks like he’s going to a ball – sometimes all this pomp and circumstance feels so over the top – but actually as I watch him stride to the bar, I stifle a small shiver.

  He looks yummy.

  Most definitely a sign…

  2230 There is a girlfriend

  Bugger, bugger, bugger, bugger, bugger, bugger, bugger

  Her name’s Tracy and he spent 7 minutes and 38 seconds talking about her (I was looking at the clock behind his head).

  And to top it all she’s 23…

  Maybe Rob’s not Mr Right after all. I still don’t know his age but know he’s definitely younger than me. If he has a 23 year old girlfriend, why on earth would he be remotely interested in a 46 year old woman with 2 grown up kids?

  Maybe I’m doomed to spend the rest of my life sharing a bed with a snoring, dribbling, farting dog (although come to think of it, that actually describes most men too – makes me feel a bit better).

  I give Nelson an experimental shove. I might as well have been trying to move a four foot tree trunk.

  I sense it’s going to be a long night.

  Friday 18 September

  0730 Spent the whole night pinned up against the wall.

  Never again – next time I stay on board, Nelson can stay with Frankie!

  I was awake at 6am (and and 4 and 3 and 1) so by 6.30 I decided enough was enough and made a concerted effort to get out of bed.

  By the time I’d extracted myself, I felt like I could’ve given Houdini a run for his money.

  A quick walk, cup of coffee and 2 ginger nuts later, I’m sat at my computer feeling pretty jaded and low, which I keep telling myself has nothing to do with a certain officer and everything to do with lack of sleep.

 
; Think it’s time to bring out the big guns. I have no option but to pay a visit to the College shop (otherwise known as the Naafi) and buy a packet of donuts.

  0830 Now feeling sick in addition to jaded and low, although I have the small consolation that I didn’t actually eat all 4 of the donuts – I gave one to Nelson.

  The cadets are beginning to filter up the stairs and a queue is already forming outside my office door. I have to say I’m not feeling particularly charitable.

  I fling open the office door (well actually ‘fling’ is probably a bit dramatic as it’s fire door and flinging it open would challenge a finalist in The World’s Strongest Woman competition). Still, the cadets waiting there were gratifyingly startled; one even dropped his mobile phone (no mean feat seeing as most of them appear to have their phones surgically implanted in their left ear).

  I tell the cadets that I need to speak with their teacher before I make a final decision regarding their weekend leave and that they will be informed of my decision at 15.30 – not a moment before.

  They reluctantly shuffle off to class and I resolve to hide between now and the moment I put them out of their misery. I have no intention of letting them off the hook – if I do, I’m simply showing my weakness as a woman and they’ll walk all over me (and of course I run a tight ship…)

  The problem is, if I tell them my decision now, it gives them another 7 hours to plead, beg and offer me all kinds of bribes (ok maybe I should consider telling them sooner).

  At the end of the day, they’ll be miserable but they’ll also know I mean business.

  1300 I head down to the Wardroom even though I don’t really want anything to eat – the donuts are still sitting like a lead weight in my stomach. I grab some fruit (I’m really good at martyrdom) and a coffee and tuck myself away in a corner with the newspaper.

  Rob doesn’t come in and I torture myself with thoughts that he’s even now driving off to be with his 23 year old nymphomaniac. They can’t possibly have anything in common, but then they probably don’t talk much…