Andrew Wareham - The Death of Hope

A minute or two and then to the Commodore in person, able just to find time for the wedding of his protégé and delighted to make Alice’s acquaintance.

“Was that Brigadier Baker, the VC, I saw you with just now, Sturton?”

Simon explained the circumstance and caught Richard’s eye, made, left the distinguished pair in conversation.

“How many more, Alice?”

“Almost completed the round, Simon. Your Uncle Isaacs remains, together with his lady. I shall speak to them then retire to change.”

The good wishes of the clan were offered and gratefully accepted.

“If you should be in London in the next week or two, your Grandfather wishes to have a word, Simon. I believe he is planning! He sends his congratulations for your new ship, by the way.”

Simon wondered just how much influence the old man had brought to bear.

A week of honeymoon, the Navy forgotten, the couple happy in each other although Alice was hesitant in joining in their activity of a night – she had been sheltered and was a quiet girl, Simon told himself. They spent a few days at the Perceval manor in Kent, finding the house to be relatively new, large and not especially interesting and the park ploughed and down to wheat for the duration of the war.

“We can restore the paddocks when it is all over. The stables buildings are still there and there will be a place for ponies.”

The reference to children, veiled though it was, was unwelcome to Alice. She was not at all sure that she looked forward to pregnancy, inevitable though it might be. Not to worry! She welcomed her husband’s advances, as her mother had told her she must, and tried to show enthusiastic though she was not entirely certain how…

A week in London was more entertaining to her – she was a country girl, hardly knew Town and wished to make up for that lack. She shopped, despite being told that the stores were empty, and bought a wardrobe appropriate for a married lady and much enjoyed that part of her new existence.

Simon was taken to meet various lesser political figures, men whose faces rarely appeared in the newspapers but who played a significant role behind the scenes. They were the kingmakers, he was told, the gentlemen whose yea or nay determined just who should rise, or fall, at Westminster.

His Uncle Perceval was open in his explanations, accepting that as a Naval officer Simon would have little idea of how things actually worked.

“We are going to place you in the Conservative interest, Simon. Your Grandfather Isaacs agrees that they are the coming party. The Liberals head the government now but will inevitably find themselves taking the blame for the war and falling into opposition within a few years. Doesn’t matter a great deal, in fact, but it will be as well for you to be a member of a government. You have to remember that the Conservatives fall naturally into two sets, one of politicians, the other of natural backbenchers – youths of monied parents and the right schools and almost no ability who have to be found something to do. The braying, foxhunting mass can be ignored; they exist to lounge on the benches and troop through the lobbies at order and keep their mouths shut otherwise. You are to be one of the politically awake Tories, which is why we are making the introductions now, well before you can actually take a seat.”

It seemed rather ruthless to Simon. He wondered what part democracy played.

“A lot and almost nothing, simultaneously. You must win general elections. Having done so, you can ignore the masses for the next three or four years, provided all seems to go well. Power still resides in Westminster and Whitehall, provided it is exercised discreetly. This new Labour Party may change a little in the way things work. Not too much – it will become part of us if it grows important. You have the advantage that you are my heir. You will inherit a seat in the Lords sooner or later. It means that you can never become Prime Minister – that now seems clear – but it also gives you a vast deal of influence for the whole of your life, if you wish to use it.”

He began slowly to realise that the gentlemen he met in obscure offices and of an evening at dinner were to an extent forced to entertain him. He would be part of the background, at minimum, for the next half century, assuming he survived the war, and could not be fobbed off to lounge with the ignorant idlers of the backbenches. Like it or not, he was there and was a link to the City and all of its financial power; he was to be the face and voice of the Isaacs clan, acceptable publicly because he was Gentile not Jew. That also made him valuable to the clan – a link that they had previously lacked.

The sole question was whether he would choose obvious eminence, a place in government as a minister, or a less visible role as an advisor, a voice of wisdom to be consulted before precipitate action might be taken. Was he in fact to be the Admiral or the senior flag captain, the man who actually read the words from the Admiralty and made clear what the aims of any action must be?

The Admiral posed for the photographers these days, while the flag captain reported to Their Lordships, commonly enjoyed a greater degree of true responsibility.

He returned to Harwich and to the house on the outskirts they had rented where Alice would create a home for him to return to when possible.

Tyrwhitt greeted him and sent him off to sea.

“Increasing activity around Heligoland and the islands there, Sturton. All of our patrols are to pay particular attention to the north of our area. The Dover Patrol is being beefed up from Portsmouth and Plymouth temporarily and is to take over some of our work on the Belgian coast for a few weeks. You are to see what may be seen and keep an eye out for minelayers especially.”

“Why, sir? A peculiar place to lay fields, I would have thought. Not much chance of our venturing towards the Friesian Islands.”

“Word is – from those people who claim to know such things – that the latest plan is for the High Seas Fleet to sail and make a demonstration of their presence in the North Sea and then retire, drawing the Grand Fleet out from Scapa Flow and Queensferry and bringing them onto the new-laid minefields. As they pull away, possibly towing some of our battleships, certainly in some disorder, they will cross a line of submarines. Assuming the submarines to achieve some success, flotillas of destroyers in night actions to follow.”

It was a recipe for disaster.

“We could lose a dozen battleships in the space of a day and a night, and never bring the High Seas Fleet to action, sir.”

“We could. Jellicoe, I am told, believes it to be a strong possibility. Beatty does not. Beatty believes his battlecruisers are fast enough to avoid submarines and destroyers alike. Provided the minefields are spotted, and can be avoided, then he can get on the heels of the High Seas Fleet with his big guns and turn the tables.”

“That is crazy, sir! Battlecruisers are almost unarmoured. They are to chase cruisers and scout for the fleet. They have no place in the line of battle and must never come in range of battleships.”

“I know that, Sturton. So do you. Beatty wants to win the battle and to Hell with any nautical sense! Glory first and foremost, and the damned newspapers support him and pressure the government to give him free rein! You must do what you can the thwart the Germans and Beatty alike, Sturton!”

“A round of golf in the morning, Adams?”

The nine-hole golf course was one of the few relaxations available to officers at Scapa Flow. It was not elegant and the sheep provided a mobile hazard but it was better than hour after hour sat in the wardroom talking to the same people about the same things, day after day after day. Christopher was happy to accept.