Andrew Wareham - The Balloonatics - A Tale of the Great War

“Weather forecast for tomorrow and Sunday says wet and windy. Spoken to Plymouth on the telephone and they tell me the rain’s reached them already. Cancelled all flying till Monday. If you get a move on, Naseby, you can be on the five o’clock train up to Town out of Brighton. Back for last thing Sunday. Take a break while you can, man! You will be busy at Polegate, running the flying side and having oversight of training. I shall give you a pair of experienced subs who have seen a bit of service; they can train up with the new pilots and four of the mids to hold their hands. We have put Horrocks’ name up for a commission, emergency provisions, and it will be through on Monday. Sort of thing we can get away with occasionally – you know, a nod and a wink, jolly good sort, shouldn’t stay as a mere rating. He’ll come in as a sub and we will make him a pilot after a single flight, as we have with you, and he will join you by the middle of the week. I know he has sat in the pilot’s seat several times, unofficially – that’s why we gave him to you at first, in case you needed a word of advice. You didn’t, of course. Anyway, run, there’s a Crossley waiting to take you and Fraser to the train.”

Corners cut and strings pulled – all the things that the units on the fringes of the Navy could get away with. It was said to be the same in the boats – the destroyers and torpedo-boats who made their own rules and lived a crazy life free of restriction, and died quite often, as well.

Not to worry!

There was a bag waiting on his bed, the servant who looked after him and Fraser showing his worth. He must remember to drop him half a crown when he came back on Sunday, and a ten bob note when he transferred out to Polegate.

The station was busy on the arrivals side, thin on departures and the train up to London was no more than half-full. In the other direction it would be standing room only as Londoners came down for a weekend at the coast. Wartime had still not changed the habit of stopping work exactly at five o’clock on Friday, it seemed.

Into Victoria station by six and then onto a busy train out to Ewell where his parents lived within easy distance of the City. He was home before seven, found the family about to dine, no guests and an extra place quickly set.

“Well, Peter? What’s the story? All sorts of rumours coming my way!”

His father seemed inclined to be amused.

“Well, simple enough in some respects, Father. Calliope ran down the barge of the Admiral commanding Portsmouth – the Second Sea Lord, no less – dumped him into the harbour. I had the watch at the time. Exit Calliope for me!”

“So I was told, my boy. I also heard that it was only because of your quick action on the bridge that he was not run under and drowned, that he was in a hurry and had ordered his barge crew to take a ridiculous manoeuvre.”

Peter nodded.

“He tried to cut under our bows when there was not a chance of making it. Appeared around the stern of a moored cruiser and gave us less than thirty seconds sight of him.”

“That was what my informant – a post captain, no less – told me. He said that your captain wanted an excuse to get rid of you?”

“Not ‘wanted’, sir, he was not persecuting me. He took the opportunity to clear his bridge of an officer better-bred than him and not inclined to be cowed by his ill-mannered tirades. Something of a bully and expecting all of his officers to toady to him.”

The elder Naseby grimaced.

“I was told such, Peter. Jacky Fisher has been informed as well, I assure you. All unofficial and nothing to be done, publicly. He will be watched and if he steps out of line so much as an inch he will be posted, probably as officer commanding to the smallest port to be found on the China coast. I have been told that you have volunteered into the RNAS, meeting the Navy’s urgent need for pilots there, and you have shown active and efficient already. Your name is high on the list of those young, go-ahead officers who may expect recognition at an early stage – so it has done you no harm. The opposite in fact, but you will be fairly much restricted to the RNAS for the rest of your career.”

“Having joined, force-put, one might say, Father, I am delighted with my situation. I am a pilot already, have taken my own blimp down the whole of the south coast and back again and will be senior on the flying side at Polegate – a new field – from Tuesday. Far better than Calliope, Father.”

The family was pleased it would seem. His elder brother, possessed of the mannerisms of a forty year old though barely twenty-five, ponderously agreeing that he had ‘fallen on his feet’ and his two younger sisters amazed that he might fly, of all things. His mother, approaching fifty and putting on an amount of flesh, still retaining much of her younger beauty, smiled and said she was sure it would end up for the best and what did he intend to do for the weekend?

“Harrods tomorrow, Mama. I must go shopping!”

They were suitably amazed and discussed his needs.

“No need to buy binoculars, Peter,” his father interrupted. “I have a pair of the best sat up in my room. German by Zeiss, I bought them twenty years ago when in Switzerland and wanting to see more of the mountainsides.”

They sat and talked after dinner and his father fetched the glasses – big and heavy and powerful, in their own leather carrying box and with a strong leather strap to hang around the neck.

“What else, now?”

“Thermos flasks, Father. To carry hot tea or soup. It is cold above two thousand feet and patrols can last longer than twelve hours in the long days of summer. As well, woollen stockings and a scarf and gloves. The gloves will be a problem, needing be thin and supple and warm as well.”

They agreed that would be difficult to find. The best thing would be for the girls and his mother to accompany him in the morning – they would be better at shopping in the nature of things.

“We have a dinner tomorrow, hosting some of the locality – two families in the banking line. You still have your dress uniform hanging upstairs, I think?”

Peter had, broached the matter of sending his trunk to Polegate.

“No use for the dress gear aboard ship, not in wartime, sir. Not expected of a lieutenant. At Polegate, settled into a wardroom ashore, it will be a different matter, perhaps. We might have to host local bigwigs and such. Not too often, I trust. If I am to be a senior man, then I must look the part.”

His mother agreed.

“I shall speak to Porson. She will deal with it and have it sent to the proper place. Polegate? Where is it?”

“Just in Sussex, not so far from the border with Kent. HMS Polegate the name of field, taken from the nearest railway station. There will likely be a village closer and the name of that I do not know.”

It did not matter, the housekeeper would deal with it.

Peter realised that both of his sisters were grown up young women. Nineteen and just eighteen, he thought, both of them of an age to be looking for a husband. He wondered how the war would affect the normal ways of courtship – there could not be so many dances and parties for them to be seen at. His brother was of an age to settle down as well. He smiled at his own words – Geoffrey had settled down before he was fifteen.

The family was changing, more so each time he returned, and he was less a part, more of a visitor when he came back.

“What’s it like here these days, Geoffrey? Plenty to do in your spare time still?”

“Little of spare time, Peter. I shall be sat down with Father much of tomorrow and Sunday going over American papers with him. A big loan to be floated in New York and used to buy into munitions factories in some place called New Jersey, predominantly. We need to ensure our sources of supply, being unable to produce all we need in Britain. With good management, all will be well. It does take time!”