Clarke nodded slowly. ‘That’s bloody right, sir. ’E comes to you for ’elp and you tells ’im to sling ’is ’ook. While you go an’ stuff yerself in the barracks wardroom!’ If only the coxswain was here, he thought. He’d have probably sent the kid ashore without asking anybody’s permission. But he was the only one who might get away with it.
Clarke went to his mess and said to the sailor on duty, ‘Get me a wet. I don’t care wot, I don’t much care ’ow. Just get it!’
The man did not bother to remind the petty officer it was only four in the afternoon.
Clarke called after him, ‘An’ you can join me! I don’t feel like sippin’ alone just now!’
The sailor came back with a jug of what Clarke guessed was hoarded tots.
He felt better already. ‘Ta, very much.’
The man grinned, ‘I just ’eard that Mr Bunny Fallows is gettin’ tanked up already.’
Clarke paused in mid-swallow. ‘Christ. I’d better get down aft a bit sharpish. Jimmy’s ashore tonight.’
He found Fallows in the wardroom, squatting on the padded club fender by the unlit fire, a large drink in his hand, his face almost as red as his hair. He was just a youngster, probably not even twenty-one. God, he’ll look like something from Skid Row when he gets to my age, Clarke thought.
‘Yes, what is it?’
Clarke wished that the Chief, his own boss, was here. He never got in a flap, never pushed his stokers to do what he had not done himself a million times.
‘The first lieutenant’s compliments, sir, and—’
Fallows gave a knowing grin. ‘Come on, man, spit it out! This is not a court-martial, y’know!’
He was already losing his posh accent, Clarke noticed. He thought, It’s a pity it’s not yours. He said, ‘He’s going ashore this evening, sir.’ He watched the glass empty in one swallow. ‘I’m to do Rounds with you, sir.’
Fallows considered it for several seconds. ‘Righty-ho, can do! Got fuck-all else on tonight anyway.’ He tapped his nose with the empty glass. ‘But tomorrow, that’s something else, eh?’ He gave a little giggle.
Clarke breathed out with relief. Drunk or sober, he could handle the red-haired subbie. He had expected him to fly into a rage like he often did. That was something he could not manage, not after the Jimmy’s behaviour.
He withdrew and heard Fallows yelling for the messman.
Later after a hearty supper of shepherd’s pie and chips, Petty Officer Clarke was sitting alone in his mess, a glass at his elbow while he wrote a letter to his wife in Bromley.
The chief quartermaster tapped at the door and said, ‘The first liberty men are comin’ off, P.O. Seem quiet enough. Shall I tell the O.O.D.?’
‘Hell no, I’ll come up meself.’ He reached for his cap and heavy torch. The latter was useful in a darkened ship; it also came in handy to pacify a drunken liberty man.
He added, ‘Our Bunny’s smashed out of ’is mind. God knows what the Jimmy will have to say.’
Reeves grinned. ‘Who cares, eh?’ They walked out on deck. It was almost dark, with gantries, ships’ masts and funnels standing against the sky like jagged black shadows.
The men returning early from local leave would either be broke or disillusioned by Chatham’s shabby hospitality. A sailors’ town, where landladies charged them good money for the privilege of sleeping three in a bed with a cup of weak tea and a wad of bread and dripping before they plodded back to the barracks. Men serving in ships preferred to come back early. Like Rob Roy’s people; she was their home.
Leading Seaman Reeves said, ‘I was a bit surprised about Tinker.’
‘I wasn’t.’
‘No, I mean that Fallows allowed him to go ashore after what you said.
‘What?’
The chief quartermaster fell back a pace. ‘Thought you knew, P.O.!’ He forced a smile. ‘No skin off your nose. Bunny is actin’ O.O.D.’
Clarke looked away towards the brow as the first lurching figures groped across.
i wasn’t thinkin’ of that. It’s the kid I’m bothered about.’
Reeves shrugged. ‘Well, you told him, so did Ted Hoggan the killick of his mess. So wot else can you do, I asks you?’
The liberty men glanced around on the darkened deck to make sure there was no officer present, then made their way forward to their messdeck. One said thickly, ‘That bird you picked up, Fred – she was so uglyl I know you’ve never been fussy, but God, ’er face!’
The other man mumbled, ‘You don’t look at the bloody mantelpiece when you poke the fire, do you? Well then!’
Reeves groaned, ‘Sailors, I’ve shot ’em!’
It was nearly midnight when Hargrave eventually returned on board. It had been something of a triumph to share the evening with his father’s friends. Both were flag officers, and one was well known for his appearances in the press and on newsreels.
Even the thought of returning to Rob Roy had seemed unimportant.
His father had spoken to him privately before he had left barracks.
‘Ours is a true naval family, Trevor. Things might have been different in the ordinary way, but we must think of the future, eh?’
By ‘things’ Hargrave knew he had been referring to the fact that he had had three daughters. He was the only male to follow in the family footsteps.
‘War is terrible, we know that, Trevor. But when it’s over, all these other chaps will go back to their proper jobs again – the navy will be just a memory, an experience in which they will be proud to have made a contribution.’ He had leaned forward and tapped his knee, his breath smelling hotly of brandy and cigars.
‘So we must use the time to benefit ourselves, and of course the service. It’s why I want you to get a command, not bugger about in a damn great cruiser, don’t you see? You were found unsuitable for submarines, and I can’t say I’m sorry about that, and you’ve not time to make up the experience anywhere else but in small ships like Rob Roy. As a regular executive officer you stand out. Be patient, and I promise you a chance to walk your own bridge within months!’
Like speaking with the two flag officers, it was as if Hargrave had been lifted a few feet higher than he had been before. Provided he could stay in one piece, and that applied in any ship, he would have his father’s promise to sustain him.
To his surprise he found the Chief alone in the wardroom drinking black coffee.
‘I thought you were staying ashore for the night, Chief?’
Campbell looked at him coldly. ‘Lucky I changed my mind then, isn’t it?’
‘What’s happened?’
Campbell stood up and walked to the fireplace. ‘I had to do Rounds. It’s not my job, Number One.’
‘Look—’ Hargrave could feel his irritation rising. ‘This isn’t a bloody trade union, not yet anyway! Any officer should be capable of—’
‘It’s not a question of being capable.’ Campbell faced him angrily. ‘This ship has a fine reputation, everyone knows that. I came back on board to find the Acting-O.O.D. smashed out of his mind, spewing his guts up over the side, and the officer responsible ashore at the barracks! So be good enough not to lecture me about capability!’
Hargrave snapped, ‘I think we’ve both said enough.’
The Chief strode to the door. ‘And Ordinary Seaman Tinker’s adrift, by the way.’ He vanished, leaving the curtain swirling in his wake.
Hargrave sat down heavily. ‘Bloody hell!’ He saw the mess-man watching from the pantry hatch. ‘Horse’s Neck!’
‘Bar’s shut, sir.’
‘Well, open it? He stared hard at the deckhead. Nothing must spoil it. Tinker had deserted. Perhaps it was inevitable. He would speak with Petty Officer Clarke about the facts.