Andrew Wareham - The Death of Hope

“Have you orders for us, sir?”

“Patrolling, seaward of the minefields and off Dutch coastal waters, outside their limits, of course. Keep an eye on what may be passing through. Might be the case that the Hun is sending convoys south and breaching neutrality and nothing the Dutch can do about it. They are still building coastal defence ships, will be able to protect the integrity of their waters next year, can’t do a lot this. Under no circumstances will you enter Dutch waters, of course.”

“No, sir. Might I be permitted to sit waiting a mile outside, sir, in Belgian waters?”

“Not just permitted, positively encouraged, Sturton!”

Simon nodded – if he said nothing, then he did not acknowledge the implications in SNO’s words, which was preferable for both men. They would force the German ships to make a display of their presence in Dutch waters, a major breach of neutrality which the American newspapers would make much of.

“A day in harbour – full twenty-four hours, Sturton. Give your people a good shore run. Not a great deal for them to do here, of course. Better than being cooped up in frowsty messdecks!”

Simon grinned ruefully.

“Jack will always find something to do ashore, sir. Four men at least for Rose Cottage as a direct result, I don’t doubt. They have to be given liberty, sir, and we know what they will do with it!”

“Sailors never change, Sturton! I remember on the China Station the year after the Boxer business, letting the crew ashore on leave. I had a sloop at the time, Archer – only small but still more than a hundred men. Ended up with thirty of them in the shore hospital at Honkers! Admiral not best pleased with me, as you will imagine! Couldn’t sail for a month.”

“Never served out East, sir. Not much chance that I shall in this war – all of the action is in European waters. I did see reports of something in the Red Sea recently but that’s about as far east as it goes.”

SNO was dismissive.

“Very minor action, Sturton. Squadron of trawlers – minesweeping and general duties, you know the sort of thing. On anti-slavery patrol and came across a pair of Turkish gunboats escorting a convoy of troopers to attack the Canal. As far as I have heard, the intention was to put a brigade ashore for long enough to take and scuttle any ships they could lay hands on and block the Canal at its southern end. Make it difficult to run troops through from Australia to the Dardanelles. The trawlers sank the lot! Troopships went down in shark waters – full of them, the Red Sea. End result, a thousand or two of fat sharks and no Turkish soldiers!”

“Well done the trawlers, sir! No more than a single four inch apiece, I would expect, and did a very tidy job.”

“Sort of thing one expects of the Navy, Sturton. Reserve skippers, of course, and a single real officer – a lieutenant, don’t know his name. Must have put up a black to have been given that sort of job. Cleared his jib, anyway – the fellow’s been made navigator on a good cruiser, Black Prince, I believe. Came out very well for him.”

All as it should be, the prodigal brought back into the Naval fold. Very satisfying!

“Very good, sir. The half-flotilla will need to visit the powder hulk, sir. Amazing just how many rounds quick firers can get rid of in five minutes of action!”

“Yes, one of their drawbacks. Fire much too fast – bound to be wasteful! Might have been wiser to stick with the old breech loaders, you know, Sturton. Shortage of ammunition at the moment, Army and Navy both. Using up too much, you know how it goes! We have sufficient for your needs. No more bombardments by the monitors and predreadnoughts this side of Christmas – all of the big stuff is going to the Army. Running another one of their ‘pushes’, you know. Going nowhere! Take a quarter of a mile and shout victory! Don’t know how many thousand men those few yards will have cost.”

“I had heard…”

SNO interrupted Simon.

“Too many of these bloody rumours going the rounds, Sturton!” He proceeded to add his own. “On the strict QT, French is on his way out. No idea of what he is doing, hopeless as a commanding general. The question is, who is to succeed him. Likely to be Haig. His family has a lot of money, really pushing out the boat for him, so I am told. They own some MPs, of course, and are dropping some fat little presents in the pockets of others. Got a solid bloc in the House of Lords, as well. French has the ear of the King, but that don’t count for so much these days. Wullie Robertson would be a better general, so I hear, and two or three others of the younger men – none of them with the clout. Add to that, Haig’s cavalry and that’s important. Don’t want a damned foot soldier in supreme command, after all!”

“I had thought Wellington was infantry, sir.”

“So he was, Sturton. Irish as well. Fine soldier, the Iron Duke. Not what is needed these days!”

“Bit of a problem in Ireland, I hear, sir…”

“More than a bit, Sturton. Coming to a head just now. Kaiser is sending money and guns to the Irish traitors. Still a hangover from the Curragh business last year so can’t entirely trust the Protestants either. Place is a pain in the arse! Still sending recruits by the thousand, mark you – the great bulk of the Paddies, Catholic and Protestant equally, are honest, trustworthy men. Best thing for Ireland would be to line every priest and politician of both sides up against a wall and shoot the lot of them! For Christ’s sake don’t repeat that, Sturton! More than my job’s worth to have that heard!”

Simon assured him of his silence, leaving the office with a quiet grin. He had heard the same repeatedly from his naval acquaintance – the Irish were sound, their leaders deserved to be shot. It sounded not unreasonable. The bulk of politicians were unfit to claim membership of the human race; when those politicos were priests and pastors as well, the situation could only be worse.

“Shore leave for all hands and officers, Mr Canning. Leave a bare anchor watch, give all of the hands as long ashore as is possible. Defaulters included on this occasion. Have we any, by the way?”

“Two, sir. Fell into an argument and struck each other. Dealt with it myself, sir, rather than risk it ending up in a court. Stupid business about which music hall singer it was who first sang some vulgar ditty. Both of them swore to hearing it for the first time – different places and people. Twenty minutes after rum issue and neither of them with a head for their tot. Bloody rum has no place in a steam navy, sir! Might have made sense aboard sailing ships where they needed strong arms and no sense for most of the men. No damned good for us on a ship using complicated machinery!”

“Agreed, Canning. Nelson’s Blood – the spirit of the Navy! No arguing with that sort of stupidity. I presume you stopped their issue?”

“Fourteen days, sir.”

“Good. Might bring them to their senses. Far better than a court and time in a shore prison for assault.”

“Can I ask what the word is on Higgins, sir?”

“Nothing yet. Too soon. What do the hands think?”

“Most of them have a sort of affectionate respect, sir, but no great admiration, if you can see the difference. They think it was a bloody daft thing to do. They think he’s bloody daft anyway, so it sort of fits.”

“Unfortunate. Can’t have the lower deck noticing when their officers are stupid. Be no end to it!”

Canning did not know whether Simon was serious, made no response.

“I’ve put him up for the DSC, Canning.”

“No choice, sir. It was a brave act. Unthinking, damned stupid and successful – all the qualities needed for a medal, sir.”

Simon tapped his breast meaningfully and agreed.