Andrew Wareham - The Death of Hope

“That is not to say that all medal winners are necessarily foolish, of course, sir.”

“Just most of them, eh, Canning?”

They were interrupted by the coxswain.

“Beg pardon, sir. Mr Higgins has just fallen over. Might be as well to get him to a doctor for that leg of his, sir.”

“He said it was no more than a scratch.”

“Bit more than that, sir. Still bleeding. Quite deep.”

“Hospital. Quickly.”

The report came back that the wound had been cleaned, foreign bodies removed and fourteen stitches applied. Mr Higgins was to remain in hospital for a day in case of infection.

“My fault, Canning. I should have known better than to expect sense from that young bugger!”

Simon visited the hospital, cornering the doctor in charge of Higgins and enquiring how long he must be ashore.

“When will he be fit for sea duty, sir?”

“Three weeks would be best, Captain Sturton. A nasty wound, jagged lacerations. Not too deep and no damage to bone but needing time to knit together.”

“Can he go home? Convalescent leave?”

“Best place for him. His mother will give him better care than we can.”

“I shall see what can be arranged. Thank you, Doctor.”

Next stop was SNO’s offices.

“Young Higgins, sir. They’ve just put fourteen stitches into what he said was a scratch on his leg. The doctors want him off for three weeks at least and say he would be better off at home. I would like a replacement for him, if possible, sir, until he is fit to serve again.”

“Necessary, Sturton. If he is wounded, he must be looked after. I shall arrange transport for him at soonest, get him out of the hospital, clear a bed. Where to?”

“London, sir. I have an address for him.”

“Well done. Consider that dealt with. A replacement, now… Not so easy if it is to be a temporary posting.”

“If he is promoted, then a destroyer is not the best place for him as an inexperienced lieutenant, sir.”

SNO grinned.

“You don’t want him back.”

“Not as a lieutenant, sir. Too great a chance that Canning might be promoted out – or killed, of course – and he might have to step up to First, which he could not do. He lacks the knowledge and does not have the ability to learn quickly. As a lieutenant, he will be a liability, wherever he is, unless he is given a very small boat of his own, perhaps.”

“So be it, Sturton. The Coastal Motorboats will be in service in a few months. He can be put across to one of them, to take one of the first and learn how to handle it with a sensible AB at his side. I will put that forward, a strong recommendation, at soonest. Might be able to swing it. I know he is a special case, though why has not been vouchsafed to me…”

It was time to make the admission, to confirm SNO’s obvious surmise.

“I have a strong suspicion, sir, but have been ordered to keep my mouth firmly shut. I might say Dirty Bertie, sir, as long as there was nobody to hear me.”

“Oh, Lord! Another one of those! Why they must be dumped on the Navy, I do not know. I served with one of that sort years back, must be thirty years ago now, as a midshipman. He was in fact a competent sailor. That was fortunate, as he was a post captain before he was thirty!”

“This one is slightly different, sir. The lower deck has the expression ‘thick as two short planks’. We tend to say ‘wooden-headed’, I believe.”

“Well put, Sturton. Let us assume you have a permanent replacement. How do you want to go about it?”

“Not perhaps to trawl for the aristocracy, sir!”

“Unlike your Campbell-Barnes, eh?”

“Exactly. I have a sub, McCracken, who is due his step and young Waller, the mid, is a yachtsman, crewing since the age of ten, and well capable of receiving his commission. A bright midshipman would be ideal, sir.”

SNO shook his head with ponderous humour.

“Can’t guarantee that, Sturton. How about one who is less daft than Higgins?”

“An acceptable compromise, sir.”

“I need confirmation from Harwich before I can put McCracken up, Sturton. That should take no more than a couple of hours, you being a blue-eyed boy! I will come aboard myself in late afternoon to give him the good news in person and lead the mid aboard – don’t want the poor lad getting lost in a foreign land, after all. You may inform Waller of his step.”

All very simple, in fact.

SNO took pleasure in promoting McCracken, telling him what a good chap he was, and meeting Sublieutenant Waller, bursting with joy at his rapid step, and then in producing the new body.

The new midshipman was a wartime volunteer, lacking knowledge of naval habits and traditions, yet well capable of learning the ways of a destroyer at sea for having experience of small craft. Mr Pinkerton was regarded as an asset, despite being Scotch; he had no barbarous accent to mock, was able to fit in quickly.

“What do I do if Mr Higgins comes back, sir?”

“Stay here as an extra hand, Pinkerton. Mr Higgins will be moving to pastures greener, we may be sure. If he returns at all, it will only be for a month or two.”

The wardroom was crowded and Waller, who now had a cabin rather than a cupboard to sleep in, much hoped that Higgins would not be seen again. He took pains to assist Pinkerton to learn the trade and fit in, hoping he would be seen as obviously more useful.

“You seem to know your way about. Where have you sailed before, Pinkerton?”

“On my uncle’s trawler, sir, which I liked. I intended to join him as a deckhand, leaving school as soon as possible. My father is a civil servant, first one of the family to leave the fishing. He had been to the University first. He is very respectable now, promoted a long way, and does not want me to go to sea as a common fisherman, so he arranged for me to join the Royal Navy.”

The word was passed rapidly, the boy was a small boat man off the Arctic trawlers. It helped, especially when he showed competent and willing to work as Lancelot led the half-flotilla on a series of fruitless patrols outside Dutch waters, parading up and down the coastline a careful four miles out to sea, making it clear that there would be no inadvertent straying over the line.

A fortnight unbroken other than for oiling and Simon was called to SNO’s office.

“Intelligence reports that the Hun has stopped running ships along the coast, because you are there, Sturton. A useful blockade. Look out for torpedoes – they are almost bound to send submarines after you. Commendation for Lancelot for shooting down the seaplane, by the way. Much approved of. Mr Higgins – Lieutenant Higgins, that is – will not be returning to you. He is still on sick leave, probably for some weeks yet, the wound having become infected. Nothing too serious, slow healing, that’s all. When he is fit for duty he will be sent to Chatham to work up a torpedo boat, one of the new, small sort, as you recommended. He has his DSC. You will not see his face in the newspapers, surprisingly enough! I am to inform you that the powers that be are pleased with you for your handling of the boy. If he does well in his coastal boat, he will be promoted and sent out to Washington as assistant to the naval attaché there. No actual work to do, just showing off his English accent and being aristocratic at dinner and dance. Good chance a millionaire’s daughter will lay her hands upon him and provide him with a meal ticket for life – young and a hero, what more could they ask for, especially when they get a sniff of royal blood!”

“And the privileged will look after their own again, sir. Why should I complain? I am one of them, after all.”

“In a way, yes, Sturton. You have, however, made your own success. Rather different to young Higgins.”