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

“No. I think the better of you for that. Anyway, the important thing is that you have my formal blessing and I wish the pair of you happy. You have a better chance than many, I would say – both of you sensible and level-headed, except when it comes to diving your balloons to within a hundred feet of the enemy, young man!”

“Wartime, sir. Do what is necessary and sweat about it afterwards.”

“I have been told that myself. I never did believe it.”

A pound hired a taxi to Polegate, far more comfortable than using local trains and changing at least twice.

Bracegirdle welcomed Peter, relinquishing a neat and tidy office, all paperwork up to date.

“Farnsworth and Payne have looked after me, sir. I have left nothing for you, not knowing whether you might be longer than your two weeks. Captain Troughton tells me I am to go to one of the new bases on the North Sea in command, sir. I hope there will be the equivalent of those two to hold my hand!”

“Offer your office people trust and they will not, generally, let you down. If they do, of course, you are in deep trouble! Nine out of ten are like those two – they wish they could be out on the line and make the best of what they are forced to do instead.”

“Payne has talked to me about Cressy, sir. Cruel to put so many boys to her crew!”

“They thought the big cruisers – the Bacchante class – would be safe. I was told the Admiralty thought it would be adventure training for the youngsters, giving them seatime, valuable experience for their future careers.”

“Bloody old fools!”

“Who am I to disagree with that judgement? In their favour, they had none of them any idea of all a submarine could do. I doubt we any of us had. It was a different world in ’14. Still, enough of that. When do you go?”

“When you are fit to take over again, sir.”

“I’ll speak to Troughton in the morning, tell him I have resumed command. I should imagine he will get you out quickly. Pity – I don’t wish to lose you. Tubbs to become senior in your place. Which of the mids is to train as a pilot for your ship?”

“Davies, sir. Horrocks has trained him well. With your permission, sir, I would like to take Norris with me, retain him as my second hand. We work well together.”

“Provided Troughton gives the nod, it is right with me, Bracegirdle. I will speak to Horrocks and Davies in the morning. I need a replacement for Griffiths, too.”

“Been here a week, sir. He has flown two patrols with Horrocks. I assumed you would want him to get some time in and was sure that Davies would become a pilot. As it is, you can keep the lad or give him to Horrocks, whichever you wish.”

“Well thought. What’s his name?”

“Adams, sir. Generally called Fanny, for obvious reasons.”

Peter did not approve of nicknames; he was inclined to doubt that he could do anything about this particular example. Sweet Fanny Adams was beloved of the services, and of the general population, he understood.

“Don’t like names for officers. Adams is an exception, I expect.”

“Sweet F. A. – I must have heard that twenty times a day in the Trenches, sir. That was when it was abbreviated – the men’s language was not refined under pressure, sir. Can’t say that mine was when the machine guns were firing.”

“I saw the Trenches when we crossed them into Belgium, Bracegirdle. Even from four thousand feet they looked like hell.”

“It’s the smell I recall most, sir. I wake up some nights with it in my nostrils. Rotting flesh; human ordure; high explosive – all mixed in together.”

“No sanitation in the lines?”

“Men shit themselves under fire, sir, quite a few. Add to that, a bullet in the belly can empty the guts out. Always that whiff, sir. HE stinks as well, the chemicals are rotten. Bodies get lost out in no man’s land, a few hooked up on the wire, others down in the mud; on top of that, the rats pulled food down under the duckboards and left some uneaten. Always that stink, sometimes stronger, never going away. Most of the men smoked – the tobacco drowned the stench. Never got into the habit myself. I don’t know why. Good thing I didn’t. I don’t think smoking in a blimp would be a good idea.”

“You might be right at that. I cannot imagine that any of our men would be so foolish – and do not wish to know if they are! I shall have to ask Troughton for another mid to replace Norris as well as Davies. That will be no problem, mids are ten a penny, always too many of them hanging around and needing employment.”

Bracegirdle nodded, old beyond his years, a senior man who had yet to see nineteen.

“What of you, Bracegirdle? Are you happy to take on the responsibility of your own base and four or five blimps and their crews?”

“It has to be done, sir. I could continue working to you, sir – I have nothing but respect for you. Other senior officers I have seen, less so. Whistling Rufus as an example. A good enough man in his way; show him a corner and he will cut it. I don’t want to work for a lazy man, sir. Best way of avoiding that is to be the boss myself. I know that everything will be done right on my field, sir – I shall make damned sure of it!”

Peter nodded.

“As I hoped to hear, and as I feared, Bracegirdle. There are twenty-four hours in a day and some of them must be spent sleeping. Don’t work yourself into the ground. Do trust your subordinates. Most of them will not let you down. The few who do can serve as examples.”

“Easily said, sir, by a leader like you. I am not your match with men, sir. I try though.”

“Don’t try so hard you kill yourself. You will have a telephone. Feel free to use it any time you feel the need to speak to me. Piece of advice?”

“Always, sir.”

“Find yourself a young lady. Have someone to go to when you need a shoulder to lean on. You are young for a wife. A lady friend who will become more in time makes a deal of sense. You will have the opportunity to meet local society when weather grounds you. A good chance there will be invitations sent into the wardroom to attend local functions. Make use of them. I know that some of the officers here have gone out among society in this area, limited though it is. Join them when you can.”

Bracegirdle nodded gravely. It was wise advice, he was sure.

Dinner was quiet, as ever, four of the blimps still out on patrol. Peter sat afterwards and called the new man to his table.

“Adams, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Commander.”

“Sit down. What are you drinking?”

“Just a beer, thank you, Commander.”

The boy knew the rules for the wardroom, addressing other officers by rank or surname, never as ‘sir’.

Peter raised a finger to a steward, called for two pints of bitter.

“What’s your background, Adams? Wartime entry?”

“Last Dartmouth intake to be released to sea, three months ago. Six months early and most of us sent out to battleships where we would be out of the way and could learn, Commander. I was not popular with the officer in charge of my year – there was an accident in a sailing race in the dinghies. He thought he had right of way. I disagreed. His bows rammed my side, which proves I was ahead of him and had the right to tack across him, Commander!”

Peter grinned in response.

“Cadets never have right of way over lieutenant commanders, Adams! He had you sent to the balloons, I presume?”

“The RNAS wanted four bodies. They got me, two Australians and the cleverest cadet in the College who knew the right answer too many times. We were given a choice of balloons, seaplanes or aeroplanes. I wanted balloons. My father took me on a trip to France the year before I entered Dartmouth and I saw one there, flying around Paris. Fascinating things, sir. I have been out for a patrol twice so far. Mr Horrocks said I was satisfactory.”