‘Oh well, if that’s your objection there’ll be plenty of opportunities on a seagoing flag officer’s staff where navigation and a knowledge of the German tongue would be useful.’
‘Perhaps…’
‘You’re not persuaded?’
‘It’s all so uncertain, sir. I’m thankful I’m not married.’
‘Wife and children hostages to fortune, eh?’
‘Yes.’
‘Never got round to it myself. Been a bachelor too long to consider anything else now. Not that any filly would consider an old warhorse like me nowadays,’ he chuckled. ‘Got a girl in tow?’
‘No. I came close to an engagement last year, but she declared her preference for a teacher at a prep school in Lancaster. She’s married now.’
‘Serves her right. Come –’ the admiral rose – ‘let’s go and have a brandy next door.’ In the admiral’s book-lined study he poured a cognac and handed it to Clark. Both men sank into the clubbily comfortable armchairs while, with a quiet clatter, Bulteel’s manservant cleared the table in the dining room.
‘I daresay they’ll find something for me to do, even if it’s only as a convoy commodore. A lot of my contemporaries have taken the job on. Perhaps we’ll meet at sea and you’ll be in a ship under my command!’
The prospect seemed to brighten the old boy, and Clark, who had not thought of a future beyond the obligation to discharge the duty that Kurt had laid upon him almost a week ago, wondered where the war would lead him. Then he dismissed the thought with the lack of concern the young have for the future. If there was a future it was muddied by images of Magda. The consideration turned his thoughts backwards. What a week it had been, Clark reflected as the two men sat in companionable silence and sipped their brandies.
From Harwich he and Magda had gone straight to Liverpool, where, crossing to Birkenhead and the rolling countryside of the Wirral beyond, he had installed her as a guest in the family home. There they had dined with Clark’s father, who had insisted that Clark came into Liverpool the following day and made a verbal report to the board, outlining the fate of the Ernest Shackleton. Amid the board’s anxieties over war insurance, government compensation agreements and the immediate requisition of several of their first-class cargo liners, the account of the loss of their newest ship had visibly struck the silent directors. When Clark had finished, the chairman had formally thanked him. Turning to his fellow directors, Sir Desmond Cranbrooke had added, ‘So, gentlemen, Dent’s have suffered their first war casualty. At least there was no loss of life.’
That night Magda and Clark had dined with Cranbrooke, his charming wife Diana, and Captain Clark at the Cranbrookes’ beautiful house about two miles distant from Clark’s home. Lady Cranbrooke had promised to take Magda under her wing, and Clark had felt his anxiety over Kurt’s fiancée lessen. During their journey to Liverpool he had been much taken with Magda and had had to tell himself she was officially engaged to his cousin in order to suppress his own inclinations. Whatever the true state of Magda’s mind, she seemed vulnerable under an artificial carapace of toughness. As he had watched the two women leave the gentlemen to their port and cigars, he had resolved not to enmesh himself with a woman while this war was on. Instead he had leaned forward and, having taken the two older men into his confidence and explained the importance of Kurt’s document, had solicited their advice as to how best to contact someone with influence at the Admiralty.
‘I shan’t ask to read it, Jack,’ Clark’s father had said, ‘but give us the gist of it.’
Clark had outlined the contents and Cranbrooke had spoken for them all when he observed, ‘That is pretty significant for merchant shipping and we ought not to sit upon it a moment longer than necessary.’
‘No doubt of that,’ Clark Senior had concurred.
‘I think an approach to John Bulteel would be the best thing to do to cut corners. I dare say both you and I will soon have more up-to-date contacts in the Admiralty in a month or so,’ Sir Desmond had said, speaking directly to Clark’s father, ‘but this sort of thing can’t wait.’ He had turned to explain himself to Clark.
‘All merchant shipping is coming under the control of the Ministry of War Transport, and your father and I have both been assigned roles for the duration. As for Bulteel, I’ve known him for some time. He’s related to my wife and he used to occupy a staff post in the Admiralty as a senior captain. Despite his age, he keeps his finger on the pulse and is very friendly with the First Sea Lord. I’ll give him a phone call and furnish you with a letter of introduction.’
‘That should be fine, Sir Desmond.’
‘I certainly hope so. We cannot afford to squander a godsend like you have brought us.’
‘I wonder what will happen to Kurt?’ Captain Clark mused.
‘I don’t know, Father,’ Clark said, ‘but his allegiance to Adolf Hitler is decidedly suspect.’
‘It sounds non-existent,’ said Cranbrooke.
‘I wonder how many more there are like him?’ Captain Clark asked.
‘I wish I could say a lot of them,’ remarked Cranbrooke, ‘but you’ve seen those films of the Nuremberg rallies, and the Sudeten Germans and the Austrians didn’t seem too disappointed to see Herr Hitler’s legions strutting into their towns and cities.’
‘We shouldn’t have trodden on them so hard in 1919,’ Clark Senior said.
‘No, you’re right, Christopher,’ replied Cranbrooke, ‘it’s certainly brought a deal of woes upon us in shipping.’ He turned to the younger Clark with a smile. ‘Well Jack, what are we going to do with you? You’ve lost us one ship, d’you think we can trust you with another?’
‘That’s a bit hard, Sir Desmond…’
‘I’m joking, my boy, though I admit to the poor taste. Besides, I’d give away someone else’s ship if I swapped her for a young beauty like Magda Liepmann.’
‘She’s my cousin’s fiancée, Sir Desmond.’
‘Good heavens, Christopher,’ Cranbrooke had laughed, waving his cigar at Clark’s father, ‘you have failed utterly to breed a son ruthless enough to make a businessman! I think he will have to stay at sea.’ Then he had sighed and his voice had grown serious again. He had addressed Jack. ‘You will find that tough enough, I think.’
Clark was torn from this recollection when Bulteel, whom he had thought was dozing off, suddenly spoke. ‘You know,’ the old admiral said vehemently, ‘if we give the Germanslong enough to bring the plans your cousin outlines to fruition, they will strangle us, just as they nearly did twenty-two years ago.’
‘I pointed that out to Captain Inglis.’
‘Well he should know that in 1917 Their Lordships went to the government and told the Prime Minister that they had lost the war at sea! Can you imagine such a thing? It took David Lloyd George himself to overrule them and to order them to organise merchant shipping into convoy to stem a defeat. And it wasn’t just Their Lordships who took their medicine with a grumble; a lot of shipowners made immense sums of money from the compensation they were paid for their losses.’
‘Yes, I know. The Chancellor of the Exchequer made his infamous speech boasting about his personal gains from shares in shipping the same week my brother was killed. My mother was never the same afterwards. I think father had done well out of the war and she felt she had paid too high a price. She couldn’t believe a British politician could be so callous, unfeeling and insensitive.’
‘Ah well, women have a different view of these things.’
They fell silent again and then Bulteel set down his glass and tugged out his watch as through the night the all-clear sounded. ‘Time for bed, my boy.’
They rose and, as they moved towards their respective bedrooms, Bulteel fired his parting shot: ‘You should think about joining the navy.’
* * *
Clark returned to Liverpool. The war was only a week old and a mood of unreality seemed to prevail throughout the country. British troops of the Expeditionary Force were moving towards the Chann
el ports to embark in the vessels that would carry them across the sea to France; air-raid sirens and occasional tentative bombing raids interrupted daily life, but it was only at sea, where the first British merchant ships were succumbing to the torpedoes of German U-boats, that the war was showing the first signs of the horrors to come. Unlike in the First World War the Admiralty had been swift to herd commercial shipping into convoys, but the country’s vast merchant fleet was too widely dispersed about its normal business to avoid many dreadful encounters. The sinking of the passenger liner Athenia within hours of the outbreak of hostilities had sent a shiver of apprehension down the spines of shipowners and seafarers alike.
Since there was no immediate vacancy for Clark, he availed himself of a few days’ leave. Back home he invited Magda out to dinner and they crossed the Mersey to enjoy an evening in the Adelphi hotel.
‘Try not to speak German,’ he warned as they went up the wide steps from Lime Street.
‘Of course not,’ she laughed. ‘Anyway, I must learn to speak English like a native, at least until this is all over.’
The menu was, as yet, unaffected by the strictures of war. They dined well and then joined the couples circling the dance floor. Warmed by the wine and the proximity of the beautiful young woman whose lissom body he held as they danced, Clark ventured upon an indiscretion.
‘Do you love Kurt?’ he asked with a gauche abruptness that surprised them both. For a second he felt Magda stiffen at the impropriety of his question and then, in an almost fluid sensation that raised his heartbeat, he felt her relax.
‘Not as much as he loves me,’ she answered enigmatically, but her true response was physical and, though they exchanged no other word on the dance floor, they ceased to move formally but clung together as intimates.
That night they kissed goodnight with a mutual passion. Magda prevented him from entering her bedroom and Clark lay awake for a long time, his heart thundering, debating whether to force the issue. He half hoped, half expected her to open his door and come to him, but the house lay still in the darkness and, in due course, sleep overcame him.
He woke happy, the first time his spirits had felt light for a long time, and he realised how burdensome had been his sojourn in Hamburg. There might be a war on, he thought with an almost merry disregard for coming danger, but he had some leave and a burgeoning romance with a stunningly beautiful young woman whose rival was not only overseas, but separated by the mighty distance of war. He was glad he had not succumbed to the crude urges of last night; he wanted to enjoy the sights and sensations of wooing Magda. Today, tonight, tomorrow would be different!
He had almost finished his breakfast when Magda appeared. Clark and his father lowered their newspapers and half rose in their seats. After her formal good morning, she avoided Clark’s eyes as she refused the housekeeper’s offer of eggs and helped herself to toast.
‘Have a good evening with my ne’er-do-well son, Magda?’ Captain Clark asked with his brusque kindness.
‘It was very pleasant, thank you.’ She shot Clark a glance. Was there a twinkle of complicity in it, or was there a hint of conscientious remorse?
But Clark’s romantic speculations were dashed by his father’s next remark. Laying his paper aside, the older man said, ‘I was talking about you to Lady Cranbrooke, Magda. This is not a very happy environment for you under the circumstances. Jack here will be off to sea soon and I’m not good company myself. Besides, when the current reorganisation is completed I shall have even less time at home than I have now, and that is precious little. Diana Cranbrooke’s going to be in a similar position when Desmond takes up his new post in London with the Ministry of War Transport, so she has offered to do more than merely provide you with some war work, she suggests you join her as a companion. There will be plenty to do in the coming months and she feels that you will be happier and more comfortable living with her. There’s an element of self-interest in her suggestion, of course, but I think it a kind offer and one that will be of benefit to you. If you rattle around this place you’ll become bored and introspective, worrying about your parents and so forth. With Diana, you can get on with helping us bring this fellow Hitler and his gangsters to book…’
‘She doesn’t have to go to the Cranbrookes’ to do that,’ Clark put in indignantly.
‘No, but I’d like to go,’ Magda said, looking at Captain Clark and ignoring his son’s intervention. Clark, hardly believing his ears, felt a keen sense of disappointment. ‘It is kind of Lady Cranbrooke,’ Madga was saying, ‘and it will be for the best. Will you tell her so, or should I write to her?’
‘Give her a ring on the telephone. She’ll be delighted to hear from you.’
Clark could hardly hide his distress and caught Madga later that morning.
‘Magda, please…’ he began, but she cut him short.
‘No Jack, it is all too quick… too sudden… Yes, you are a nice man and I like you, but I cannot turn my back on Kurt so quickly.’ She shrugged and cast about her. ‘All this is so strange… How can I explain?’
‘You don’t have to explain, Magda,’ he said desperately. ‘I want to see you.’
‘I am not going to be far away, Jack, my dear…’ She had lapsed into German and he did the same.
‘Good God, Magda, I am falling in love with you, can’t you see that?’
‘Yes, and it frightens me. I thought I was in love with Kurt, and I have lost him. Now you are saying… Jack, please understand…’
‘But what about last night, for God’s sake?’
‘Last night was wonderful, Jack, but it is best that we do not see each other for a few days. Please try and understand I want a little time to myself.’ She broke away and ran up the stairs to her room. He heard the door of her bedroom slam shut and cursed.
‘Bugger!’
By that evening Magda had been whisked away in the Cranbrookes’ Daimler and Clark dined alone with his father.
‘Pity she’s gone,’ remarked Captain Clark. ‘She certainly brightened this place up.’
‘Yes, she did that,’ Clark mumbled.
‘How long did Harry Linton give you leave for?’ Clark Senior asked, referring to Dent’s personnel manager.
Clark sighed and, shoving all thoughts of Magda aside, gave his attention to his profession. ‘Well, I was appointed to the Shackleton and now with her gone there isn’t an immediate vacancy. I suppose I’ll relieve someone in a day or two. The John Chancellor’s due to arrive in a couple of days, I hear.’
‘Yes, and the Francis Drake isn’t far behind her, but both are going into Cammel Laird’s to have guns fitted.’
‘Well I really don’t want to sit in another shipyard. I had enough of that in Hamburg.’
‘Don’t be too eager to get back to sea, Jack. It’s a dangerous place at the best of times; in a war it will be awful.’
They both sat a moment and thought of Carl, then Clark said, ‘I know Dad, but I can’t dodge things for ever…’
The older man sniffed. ‘No, I knew you’d think like that, but I could pull some strings…’
‘No, I really don’t want you to do that.’
‘Well at least you can enjoy your leave and I’ll be glad of your company. It gets bloody lonely here.’
Clark sighed again. ‘Yes, it does.’ Then an idea struck him. ‘Look, can’t I come and do something in the office? It would be an opportunity to get acquainted with what’s going on.’
And so Clark, a victim of unrequited love, commuted daily with his father across the River Mersey to the headquarters of the Eastern Steam Navigation Company, which occupied two floors of a large office building in Water Street. Here he was soon immersed in the extraordinary reorganisation that rapidly transformed every shipping company in the land, irrespective of whether they owned passenger vessels, cargo liners, oil tankers, tramp ships or coasters. Although each of these owners remained responsible for the manning and management of their own property, their vessels were rapidly requisi
tioned by the state. As each came in from its voyage and discharged its last peacetime cargo, all operational control passed from its beneficial owners to the growing Ministry of War Transport whose offices and officers, though directed from London, sprang up in the great ports of England, Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland.
Clark spent ten hectic days in this fluid atmosphere. Beneath a superficial chaos which brought howls of frustration from many of the ship’s masters, officers, engineers and ratings, there emerged an underlying order which slowly but surely integrated with the nascent convoy system. Its weakest link was the docks and the uncertain, traditionally capricious mood of the dock workers. Too long neglected, these men now sensed a power passing inexorably into their hands.
In those ten days Clark was literally run off his feet. He sped between meetings in Water Street and visits to incoming ships, not all of them owned by Dent’s; he helped foreign masters of ships for whom Dent’s were Liverpool agents, whose fates were uncertain or who wished for nothing to do with Great Britain’s war with Germany; he liaised with the naval authorities and the shipyards of the Mersey, Tyne and Clyde, making arrangements for months ahead when all the company’s ships would receive a modicum of defensive armament. On two occasions, on account of his ability to speak German, he was sent to explain what was going to happen to German crews whose vessels, caught in British ports by the outbreak of war, had been impounded. He wrote reports, made written suggestions and helped streamline procedures as only a practical seaman can when confronted with a frustratingly obdurate administration. And then, on the tenth day, two things happened. The first was a simple, internal matter. He arrived at the desk that had been made available for him to find a note that Harry Linton wished to see him.
‘I think this’ll be my marching orders, Jenny,’ he said to the plump and comely typist who had become his temporary secretary.
‘I do hope not, Mr Clark,’ she said, watching him with a tear in her eye as he went off in search of Linton. The previous ten days had been among the happiest, most breathless and most extraordinary in her life. Mr Clark was thought to be one of the company’s most handsome officers and many of the younger girls in the typing pool had outspokenly envied her. Nine years Clark’s senior, Jenny O’Neil had long ago abandoned any hope of marrying. She had a widowed mother to look after and only her small salary to live on. The temporary appointment as assistant to Mr Clark had passed like a whirlwind.
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