Andrew Wareham - The Death of Hope

Simon left, wondering just why Tyrwhitt had been so open in his plans for him. As well, what was the gain for the Commodore?

He sat in his cabin, waiting for Griffin, putting the pieces together. The viscountcy would make him a valuable follower for Tyrwhitt, useful if he had ambitions to become First Sea Lord. Additionally, he had shown well, it might be that Tyrwhitt thought he would be good for the Navy.

He heard the pipes as Griffin came aboard, rehearsed his words – short and simple.

He kept proceedings formal, did not offer drinks of any sort.

“Sit down, Griffin. I have informed the Commodore that I cannot work with you. I do not believe that you are suited for destroyers. You are an able officer with an excellent record and the Commodore will try to find you a post suitable for your talents, on a larger ship, if possible, if not, perhaps at a training establishment for minesweeping, if such exists. You are to report to the Commodore immediately, without returning to Lark. Your servant can pack your cabin for you; I will send the order. Thank you. You may go.”

Griffin stood, found his cap, saluted and left, not a word said.

Strachan presided over the honours as Griffin left the ship, raised an eyebrow to Simon.

“Gone. Too rigid for the boats, Mr Strachan. We did not see eye to eye. Are you satisfied with the arrangements we have for the depth bombs? I am still not entirely certain of those rails over the stern quarter…”

Lieutenant Commander Faulds appeared next day, late and tired from a tedious journey from Scapa Flow.

“Escaped, sir! There since August ’14 and fast reaching the end of my tether! Glad to join the Harwich Patrol, sir.”

Faulds had been in command of destroyers since mid ’13, was deeply skilled in their handling and settled in instantly to the habits Simon demanded.

The flotilla sailed into bad weather which held unbroken for a month, half a gale the least as they learned to work together. It was difficult, in many ways ideal – if they could operate efficiently in rough seas and poor visibility, they could meet almost any other problems that would come their way.

Mid-April saw them back to the yard for three weeks to make good storm damage and pick up the latest in modifications dreamed up by the Admiralty’s boffins.

“Leave for all possible bodies, Sturton. Four weeks for you, commencing tomorrow. You may telephone your lady!”

It would seem that all was planned at the Parretts, waiting only for the word. He was to arrive next day and would be told of all he was to do. For the while, he must not worry himself – they had been in contact with his uncle and all was arranged.

A week and he was standing in the parish church, full dress, Strachan at his side, First Lieutenant acting as best man as was only right in the absence of any personal friends in the country. A commendably brief ceremony, the vicar having a fine idea of what weddings were about, and then to a surprisingly large reception.

His Uncle Perceval was present as was a banker Uncle Isaacs, Jewishness set aside for the day. Lieutenant Higgins was prominent in the congregation, a well-preserved, handsome female in her forties next to him; he was to meet the formidable mater, it seemed. He spotted Brigadier Baker as well, to his pleasure, his lady at his side, wedded three weeks, he knew, while he was at sea. The remainder of the guests were unknown – a great mass of introductions to come, inevitable at a wedding.

The bride appeared and he forgot all else, standing beside her and playing his part, giving his responses in a firm voice, as was correct.

The reception was held at the Hall, long and lush, ignoring the war other than for the absence of young men and the numbers of those present who wore black bands.

His uncles gave speeches and produced suitably magnificent gifts, sparkling and golden, and joined in the toasting and feasting that followed, wartime austerity nowhere to be seen.

An orchestra made itself known and dancing commenced and the newly weds circulated.

“Alice, I must make you known to Brigadier Baker – known to me for years at Dartmouth and for a long cruise on St Vincent dreadnought before the war. He found the Navy not to be his cup of tea and proceeded to show that he should always have been a soldier!”

Richard introduced his wife.

“We had only a very quiet affair, Sturton, due to Primrose losing two cousins in the month beforehand, the family in mourning. They were both Flying Corps. Never met them, myself.”

“You have a brigade of New Army, do you not, Baker?”

“Taking them out in May. What of you, Sturton? Three stripes up now and a collection on your chest!”

Simon announced his new status, a light cruiser and a flotilla as well.

“Post Captain within a couple of years at this rate, old fellow. Unheard of before the war, for either of us.”

Their ladies agreed they were outstanding gentlemen, wondered how they would do when the war ended.

The men caught each other’s eye and shook their heads simultaneously, Primrose noticing and wondering aloud why.

“An Army of one hundred thousand, even of our best, is not going to bring the war to an end, my love. Germany has at least two millions of men at and behind the Trenches. We may – we must – make a massive breach and bring the trench war to an end, but there will be a long slow push thereafter. How would you say at sea, Sturton?”

“We are holding our own and tightening the blockade. Germany is importing nothing by sea. A slow process. The Channel is fairly much secure. The submarines are playing merry hell in the Atlantic and things are getting worse there. From the little I pick up, I would say there is a chance we will not be able to feed the country next year.”

“Two more years, Richard?”

“If we break the German will to fight, only one. I have my doubts about that.”

It was hard to maintain the smiles demanded of the day. Alice, who had remained silent, commented once they had moved on that she had never seen a VC before; the Brigadier seemed a pleasant man despite his eminence.

“Very much so. I like his wife – though not as much as my own!”

She laughed and held his arm the tighter.

“She seems far more clever than me, Simon.”

“I expect she may be. Very blue, in the old term. She seems happy.”

“How could she not be? She is obviously in love with him and he is everything one could ask for in a soldier. I prefer seamen!”

“Then let me introduce you to Lieutenant Higgins. I have told you of him.”

“Is that a warning, Simon?”

Higgins was at his best in society, had been trained for years, Simon suspected. He introduced his mother, very correctly.

“A pleasure, Mrs Higgins.”

“Entirely mine, Commander, and Mrs Commander! I have wished to meet you ever since you first showed yourself such a friend as well as captain to my good son!”

“Mr Higgins has the makings of a fine officer, ma’am.”

Alice smiled and said nothing, thinking that the young man had two arms and two legs and a head, all the makings any officer could wish for.

“To be decorated twice at your heels and promoted quickly to lieutenant, Commander, is all that his mother, any mother, might wish for. I am sure we shall see much of each other in Town when this war is finally over, sir.”

They smiled and passed onto the next set waiting for them, came eventually to a lieutenant commander leaning heavily on a walking stick as he stood to greet them.

“Well done, young Sturton! And congratulations to you, ma’am!”

“Captain Smallwood! You are looking better than I had ever hoped for, sir.”

“Not ‘sir’ – you outrank me now, Sturton. Back on my feet, more or less. I shall be working with the Commodore at Harwich from next month. I do not doubt I shall see more of you then.”