Andrew Wareham - End to Illusion

It was daring by peacetime standards; thinking on it, unimportant in time of war. Simon smiled, happy to see her, recognising that he had a soft spot, at least, for Miss Alice.

They set themselves and their baggage aboard, Simon ending up next to Alice on the bench.

“Did you not bring your servant, Lieutenant Sturton? I thought all captains were accompanied by their personal man.”

“Packer has a sister down in Plymouth who he has not seen in fifteen years. He is a Chatham hand officially and has never been able to afford the extra rail fare for that distance.”

Ratings were given travel warrants to go on leave, but only to the port where they had officially signed on. Packer had been in London when he had joined – how and why, Simon did not know and would not ask – and consequently had become a Chatham man. It was a simple matter to change a rating’s home port, to ‘correct’ his file; it required only an officer with reason to do so.

“So you have sent him off to see her! That is very kind in you!”

He supposed it was. He would have rather said that it was part of the bond between the captain and his man – they looked after each other, the gains to both being substantial.

Polly was surprised and distressed as they made their way towards his home.

“Every field is down to wheat, Alice! All of them. No beans, no barley, no roots!”

“I don’t know much about farming. I think I heard that wheat flour for bread is in short supply. Something about ships sinking bringing wheat from America. The farmers are under orders to grow all of the wheat they can. Except for some who plant potatoes instead. I know the breweries are allowed to plant their own barley but not so much of that as it used to be. There is a shortage of beer in the pubs, I am told.”

“Bad farming not to rotate. They will harm the land!”

Simon also knew very little about agriculture – it did not feature in the Dartmouth education.

The Parretts were glad to welcome Simon, the more for hearing of the death of Lord Perceval and knowing that he was one step from becoming Viscount.

“My uncle tells me he will definitely not remarry – he believes that divorce is wrong and refuses to accept that he is single.”

“Ah yes! Ten years ago, was it not? Quite a fuss at the time, whether a New York divorce was lawful in England. I know it was suggested that she would be taken up for bigamy if she returned to England, not that she ever has. Did Alice mention Sarah’s tragedy?”

Simon had noticed the elder sister to be withdrawn and dressed very dark.

“Her fiancé’s battalion was brought back from Ireland and sent to France three months ago. He died last week. Some sort of trench raid, or some such thing.”

“The figures are high, I am afraid, ma’am. Polly has become my first lieutenant due to the promotion of my senior to replace the captain of Starling who was killed in action a few nights back.”

“Oh! He is promoted, you say?”

“He is, ma’am. Young indeed for the rank. A man with his decorations must expect to rise in the naval world, of course. A Mention and a DSC before age twenty is not in the ordinary way of things.”

They had not realised the extent of their son’s distinction, made much of him now they were informed.

The week passed quickly, almost all of it in Alice’s company and strolling about the grounds or venturing into Ipswich to discover what, if anything, there might be in the shops.

“It is shocking how the war has created hardships, Lieutenant Sturton. Only last week, try as she might, Mama was unable to find caviar anywhere! None of the stores had any! She had to change the menu for the dinner party she was holding.”

Simon was not entirely certain that qualified as hardship. He said nothing. Miss Alice was not the most practical of young ladies – clever and good-hearted and wholly unable to look after herself without a maid. As a housewife she would be able to give the correct orders to the cook and to listen to all the housekeeper had to tell her; she would not be able to do any part of their work herself. Wed to her, the Navy would be impossible. She could not run a household on the China Station, she would not know what needed to be done.

Was that a difficulty? Perhaps he would not wish to remain in the service after the war – long years of tedious cruising and doing the pretty in foreign harbours, promotions coming only slowly. The cruise he had enjoyed on St Vincent before the war now seemed to him to have been a tedious waste of time. Assuming he made full commander within two years, he would likely be another fifteen before he became post captain – he would still be one of the youngest in the rank. It would be a long, slow struggle upwards. If he left at war’s end then his grandfather would be able to ensure a place for him and a rapid rise in the City or possibly in politics, maybe both, the two often went together. Alice would be the perfect hostess for such an existence…

He was undecided still when he left for London at the end of the week, shaking Alice’s hand at the station as waited to board a mid-morning train. It was the only physical contact they had made during the week.

“Thank you for looking after me so well, Miss Alice. I shall be kept busy all summer, the Commodore tells me. There is a chance of another, bigger ship. If possible, I shall take Polly with me, but he may be given a destroyer of his own. We shall see. I shall see you when next I am ashore, if you will permit?”

She was pleased to do so, asked him to come back whenever he could, made it clear that he was entirely welcome in her life.

The guard’s whistle blew and he hopped aboard the train, waving as they pulled out. He found a compartment, not empty but with seats available, only two young men ensconced. They were both army, new second lieutenants, little younger than him but very green. They took in the medal ribbon and sat quiet, giving him the comfortable corner seat which he took as his due.

Arriving at St Pancras terminus in London he was forced to take a bus, there being no taxis in the rank. He had never ridden a bus before, was unsure about the procedure but suffered the experience in silence, glad that he had small change in his pocket. He did not think the conductor would have been pleased to have been offered a sovereign for a thruppeny fare.

Lord Perceval’s butler had risen in the world with his employer, was now far more formal in his ways.

“Welcome, Lieutenant Sturton. My lord is engaged at his office this morning and must attend the Lords for a debate this afternoon. He will return for seven o’clock when you are to be present at a dinner party with him, if that will be convenient. It is suggested that you may wish to speak to the tailors this afternoon, sir – a matter of appropriate civilian dress. You will find additional dinner wear in your wardrobes, sir, using existing measurements. Your man is not with you, sir?”

“He is visiting his family in Plymouth, for the first time in many years. He is in any case a seaman. He is valuable on the bridge in action and for keeping me comfortable in my sea cabin. As a valet, I feel he would be out of his depth.”

“Quite, sir. The second footman has been appointed with that possibility in mind. He will attend you, sir, when you are ashore.”

Simon was not certain he needed an attendant; it would have taken a far better man than him to deny the butler in his own household.

“Thank you. Should I change before I go out to Gieves?”

“No, sir. Your ordinary day dress will suffice. The shoes, perhaps…”

It had rained in Ipswich and there was a splash of mud on the shiny black leather.

“I shall go upstairs now.”

“Very good, sir. There will be a small luncheon when you come down and the car will be available.”