“Connaught not here, sir?”
“In the yard, I believe, Adams, for the guns. Our turn when she comes out. Chance for leave then, as well.”
That led to a problem needing a deal of thought. Leave, three or four weeks away from the ship. Would he be welcome in London? There was no alternative to a letter home to his father. He sat to write, discarding half a dozen attempts before settling on a short and simple piece of information.
‘Lord Adams,
Dear sir,
I am now Navigating Officer of Black Prince, armoured cruiser, attached to the Grand Fleet at Scapa Flow. I have attained the rank of lieutenant commander, substantive. Promotion and posting and a Mention followed on a successful action in the Red Sea.
There is an expectation of leave while Black Prince is in the yard for an alteration to her guns. May I know if I will be welcome in your house?
He thought it likely that his father would be fully informed about his circumstances, had to write on the assumption he would know nothing. It was not easy. He dropped the letter in the tray to go to the censors and then to the post. The Commander would read the officers’ letters himself, not leaving that task to the Seaman Writers in his office, for fear of their mouths. Even so, he did not like exposing his private business to the world in such a fashion.
Four days later, effectively return of post bearing in mind how isolated Scapa was, he received a reply. It was difficult to open the letter. He did so, annoyed to observe his own hands trembling.
A brief opening confirming that his father was aware of his career in the Mediterranean and had been made proud by it. Then to the meat of the letter.
‘You are welcome indeed to the family home, Christopher. Your eldest brother and I will be pleased to greet you again, particularly in the light of the way in which you have overcome your troubles. Your brother Arthur is in residence as well, currently, having been wounded in Flanders and requiring some months of recuperation; it is possible that he may never again be fit for active service, having been shot to the stomach and then exposed to poisonous gas which has harmed his lungs.’
“I say, Commander, what utter bastards the Germans are! My brother, a couple of years my elder, home from Flanders and effectively crippled by the inhalation of poison gas!”
That was very bad, the Commander agreed.
“Huns indeed, Adams!”
It was no way for gentlemen to fight a war, not white men! It had been argued that poison gases might be used against the wogs and fuzzy-wuzzies, savages who were strangers to the rules of war, but it was no way for the civilised to behave.
The news spread around the wardroom, was greeted with the utmost contempt. Such behaviour was simply wrong. It was a crime.
“Should try the Kaiser when the war is won and hang him! No way to treat a gentleman, you might say, but using poison gas is no way for a gentleman to behave!”
There was a restrained agreement with Crewe. Hanging a monarch was outside of the normal way of doing things, they admitted, yet his conduct had been criminal, a disgrace to the human race.
“Off to Queensferry, eight bells in the Morning Watch, Adams. Eight weeks, at least, in the dockyard. Leave for all those entitled, which includes you. As you are Navigator, with little to do in the yard, you may take four weeks. Give you the chance to show your face in Town again. Been away so long you will have been forgotten, I expect.”
“Third son and naval, little reason to recall me, Commander. No prize for an eligible daughter and years before I can think of getting married. Don’t know what I shall be doing after the war, in any case – no naval career for me.”
The Commander was aware – had to be in his position in the ship – of Christopher’s disgrace and rehabilitation.
“Bound to be something in the City, Adams, bearing in mind your family.”
“Possibly, Commander. Might be I would look overseas for a living. I expect the family will have interests in the States, even in Australia, where I could be useful – and not so stuffy as the Stock Exchange!”
The senior officers were sat in their own circle, in comfortable armchairs, slightly removed from the lieutenants and subs who made a noisier set, laughing and joking at the prospect of leave. The wardroom had slowly eased itself away from wartime austerity, the first enthusiasm waning and padded furniture reappearing. They no longer expected to descend into wild battle at any minute.
“Be glad to take the train south, Commander. A few weeks away from this bleak corner of the Earth will be more than welcome.”
“Less than ideal as an anchorage, Adams – I cannot call it a harbour! In these days of wireless, I do not know why we are not dispersed along the coast in ports from Aberdeen south to Hull. It would be easy to set a rendezvous in the North Sea or off Norway and the ships and crews could be far better looked after.”
The Victorian minds of the Admiralty demanded that the Grand Fleet must be held together, each ship within sight of the Admiral’s signalling mast. Command must be exercised by flag signals – that was the proper way of organising one’s ships.
It was very sad, all agreed. On the other hand, it was a magnificent sight – the lines of battleships, two dozens of dreadnoughts at any one time, and cruisers and the flotillas of destroyers, all at anchor and just waiting to leap out into the ocean to defeat Britannia’s foes.
“A great pity that the High Seas Fleet will not come out, gentlemen. They are spoiling a damned good war!”
It was all the fault of the Germans and their appalling, lame-brained Kaiser, that was clear to every officer.
“Makes one wonder if we are not better off, Commander, having politicians running the country rather than a Kaiser like they have.”
That was going rather far. The Commander agreed that King George, God bless him, was not a ruler in the sense that the Kaiser was; that was not the British way. Even so, some of the politicians were rather dubious sorts… There was Asquith, who was a gentleman, and Lloyd George, who was not. More than that need not be said! Add to that, there were the Irish, who were a damned nuisance in the House of Commons, and this new Labour Party, which was an embarrassment though unlikely ever to be significant.
“Damned fellow wore a flat cap into the House, Adams!”
Christopher agreed that was very bad. If the man could not afford proper morning dress, then at least he could find a frockcoat and silk hat and pretend to be a gentleman. He understood this McDonald fellow had actually worn a lounge suit as well!
That was simply disgraceful – next thing, he would be open-necked!
They considered that possibility, decided it was too much – no respectable man could descend to that level of depravity.
“He has to win an election, after all, old chap. Can you imagine conceivably voting for a man without a collar and tie? What would we do if we saw an officer in that state?”
Christopher had no doubt they would escort him below, place him in the hands of the Doctor who would hold him safe until they could send the poor fellow ashore to a secure asylum.
It made them uncomfortable even to consider such a descent from decency.
“Saw it on the merchant cruiser, Fanny Brown, you know, Commander. The first lieutenant, reservist, of course, off duty and sunbathing, of all things! On the deck with his shirt wide open to take a tan!”
They were almost amused, it was so outlandish.
“He is a Canadian, mark you. Merchant service this twenty years. Had some hopes to be given his own ship. Can you imagine what sort of captain that would be?”