“Beyond me, sir. What of you, sir? If you will pardon me prying, have you ever considered taking another lady? My mother has been dead these ten years now, sir.”
“No. Thought about it, Christopher. Cannot bring myself to do so. I was happy with your mother, as you know. A once in a lifetime experience, I would suggest. In my fifties now – no time to set up house again! Good of you to be concerned, my boy. I have suggested to Jeremy that it is more than time that he regularised his existence – he needs to produce an heir. Arthur will hardly do so now. You are at sea and in a dangerous occupation, it seems, bearing in mind the losses the Navy has suffered.”
“Not on Black Prince, sir. A cruiser who will be accompanying the Grand Fleet if she goes into action. Protecting the battleships by picking off the torpedo flotillas and their accompanying light cruisers is our role. Always a bigger target than us to attract enemy fire, sir!”
Chapter Three
“Your half-flotilla will take station back in your old hunting grounds, Sturton, just outside Dutch territorial waters off the Scheldt. Placing yourself ready for action by about an hour after nightfall, earlier if there is cloud cover and rain to reduce visibility, crawl down the coast towards the site of the bombardment, off Zeebrugge. We are using the new monitors for the first time. Heavy guns, old twelve inch taken from predreadnoughts, poor engines – almost as if they were large scale Humbers. Don’t know what the end result might be. We want you in place to pick up anything that comes down from the north, from any of the small ports. Thing is, Sturton, we don’t quite know what might have worked its way down to the Belgian ports. Might be small, fast gunboats; could be torpedo launches; might be coasters given some armour and with a couple of guns bolted on; possible that there is a larger merchantman or two set up as conventional merchant cruisers; sure to be converted trawlers. Depends what was in harbour when they were taken.”
Simon showed a keen face to the Commodore. There was no gain to expressing doubts. It seemed to him that the monitors were being set up as bait, their bombardment no more than an invitation for the enemy to come out to play.
“What of submarines, sir?”
“Good question! We think they are all kept in pens upriver from Zeebrugge, the other side of the big locks. That being the case, if it is so, they will be unable to put to sea. Too great a risk to open the lock gates during a bombardment – a lucky shell and they could be jammed.”
“And harbour batteries, sir?”
“Exist and are very large. More effective in daylight. Trying to aim onto muzzle flashes at night is anything but an easy task.”
Commodore Tyrwhitt seemed dismissive of the batteries. That being so, Simon had no choice other than to accept that they could be ignored. Lieutenant commanders, no matter how much the favourite they might be, did not argue with officers three substantive ranks their senior.
“Have the monitors wireless sets that can talk to us, sir? Be useful to pass the word if they find themselves under attack.”
Tyrwhitt regretted not.
“They can keep in contact with Dunkerque, who can message us. With luck, we will be able to contact you.”
It was better than nothing.
“Chances are that Lancelot will not be able to get a message to Harwich, sir. Our set is not the most powerful.”
“So, you will be unable to inform the monitors of what may be rushing down upon them. Unfortunate. I shall investigate the possibility of installing a larger set, Sturton. May not be practical. Worth looking at.”
“Our searchlight as well, sir, is not the most powerful. L Class were not well served that way.”
“That would demand a larger generator as well. Doubt we have them in our yard. End up being a substantial dockyard job at Chatham. I will look into the possibilities, Sturton. Anything else while I am considering a refit?”
“The Maxim, sir. Well positioned on its bandstand but underpowered. I would far rather see a two pound pompom in its place. A six pounder QF might be a possibility, sir – handy for close range work.”
“Pompom would be preferable, Sturton. Can put that on a dual-purpose mounting so that it could act in an anti-aircraft role as well. Seeing more and more of seaplanes along the Belgian coast and some of them carrying explosive bombs these days. We are looking to modify the Lewis mountings so that they can fire upwards as well.”
“The advancement of science, sir. I am told we have balloons out submarine chasing now, in place of surface ships.”
“Assisting surface ships, more correctly, Sturton. Doing a good job, too. Put a pair of eyes a mile up in the sky and they can see twenty miles and more, or something like, and spot any submarine on the surface and drive it down. Useful machines, the balloons!”
Simon accepted his senior’s knowledge was better than his. In this case, it likely was.
“Right, sir. Orders are to sail this forenoon, overnight in Dunkerque and make all ready, sailing as if for Harwich in late afternoon.”
“Exactly. We know there have been spies in Dunkerque – we caught them. That being the case, it’s a good bet there will be more by now, replacements sent in. So many refugees that it’s impossible to sort the few bad eggs out. The authorities are trying to put them all to work – we need roadbuilders and labourers of all sorts in the rear areas, there are jobs for them. A few months and they will have emptied the town of the spare bodies that infest it just now – refugees all over the bloody place! They tell me it’s worse in London – not just Belgians but every sort of Balkan object as well. Word is that the government is busy setting up governments in exile and getting them to pass conscription laws for their own people. We shall end up with all sorts of battalions within a few months. Useful! We need the men and they are better off carrying a rifle than begging in the streets of London.”
It was war and Britain had a tiny army. All bodies were welcome.
They exchanged salutes and Simon marched off to Lancelot, wondering why he had been favoured with a discussion of more than the simple operation he was to undertake. It was almost as if Tyrwhitt was coaching him, bringing him along in the Service. He was owed no favours, he was sure… His maternal grandfather was a powerful man and had shown some liking for him when they had finally met. A quiet word from Isaacs the Banker might easily translate into a message from the Admiralty to ‘look after young Sturton’.
Perhaps he was in the same sort of position as poor old Adams had once been. Better off than Adams, because he knew from his example just how easily a golden boy could be stripped of his gilt.
The boatswain’s pipes squealed as he trotted up the short brow and onto Lancelot’s deck, looking about him to see that all was as it should be. Higgins had the watch, an extra reason to double-check.
He saw nothing out of place until he glanced at the bridge, saw something different on the wings.
“What’s that, Higgins?”
“Just fitted, sir. Mr Rees set them up this morning. A new sort of Lewis, sir, with a pan that carries ninety-seven rounds instead of forty-seven. Twins, sir, which needed a bit of fiddling with the mountings, or so he said. Much more poke in a fight, sir.”
“’Poke’, Mr Higgins?”
“Yes, sir. His word, sir, not mine.”
“Ah! If the Commissioned Gunner says so, then it must be right. Perfectly correct, young man!”
“Thank you, sir. Look forward to using them, sir. I like the Lewis!”
Simon was amazed by such enthusiasm from their very own village idiot. The boy might be growing up. Perhaps he had started shaving.
“Make sure you are familiar with them, Mr Higgins, and then bring all of the bridge up to scratch, myself included. Never know, I might have to lend a hand one day.”