Andrew Wareham - Falling into Battle

“I don’t know you. New?”

“I am Burton, sir. I had the honour to be made butler to Sir David six months ago, on my predecessor’s retirement.”

“Joseph Dacres. This is Lieutenant Simon Sturton, also of HMS Sheldrake .”

“Welcome home, sir.”

The butler stood aside and nodded to an elderly footman to pick up the cases the cabby had dumped on the pavement.

“On leave for three days while the ship is in the yard for repairs.”

“Yes, sir. Your rooms will be ready in a few minutes. Your mother is in the green withdrawing room, sir.”

“Oh good, I had not expected her to be in Town.”

The butler led the way and opened a door.

“Lieutenants Dacres and Sturton, my lady.”

A middle-aged but trim and active woman jumped to her feet.

“Joseph, my dear, I had not hoped to see you! Come in, sit down! Tea, Burton! Mr Sturton, how do you do? You are very welcome, sir!”

“Thank you, Lady Dacres. I hope I don’t intrude, but I have no home of my own to go to.”

“There is always room here for a friend of my son’s, Mr Sturton. Are you on the same ship? Oh, I forget these things! My daughters, Rachel and Susannah. Lieutenant Sturton, girls!”

They exchanged greetings, smiled and sat back, Simon trying to place which was which. Both were younger than him, seventeen and eighteen at a guess; they were dressed as adults, skirts to their ankles, an amount of cleavage on display, hair up in a fancy style. Pretty enough girls – fair haired, well made, bright seeming – but nothing especially out of the ordinary. He turned his attention to their mother who was busily bringing Dacres up to date with the family news.

“Jonathan has joined up – he has taken a commission in the Green Howards, your father knowing their colonel. He is on his way to France already.”

“My second brother, Sturton.”

“Right that he should go, my lady. I see from the newspapers that there is a great rush to the colours.”

“Men and boys seem to be joining in their thousands, Mr Sturton. David has not done so, of course, but he is the eldest.”

That seemed entirely reasonable.

“Sturton - are you of the Perceval family, sir?”

“I believe so, my lady, but only just. I believe my father to have been disowned.”

“Oh, that one! John Sturton, the second son, who ran off with the Isaacs girl some twenty years ago. Left the country, did they not?”

“For Canada, my lady. They took to ranching, I believe, and died in an outbreak of some sort of fever. I was brought back as a little boy and was put into a school and then into the Navy, to my great good fortune.”

“Lucky you, sir. Your uncle Maurice has two sons, as I recall, one in the Guards and the other I know nothing of – the heir, that is. Neither married, I believe. You might bump into them in Town.”

“Not by intent, my lady. The family has no desire to bring me back into the fold.”

“That is their choice, of course.” Lady Dacres seemed disapproving of such bigotry – it smacked of punishing the son for the misdeeds of the parents. She changed the topic. “Tell me, have you seen action yet?”

Simon sat back and allowed Dacres to briefly explain that they had, thrice already, minor affairs with a few shots fired.

Sir David and the heir, also David, came in a little later and made both officers welcome. They dined as a family and spent the evening talking, quietly at home, Simon in conversation with the girls who knew nothing of destroyers and evidently wished to discover much of them.

The breakfast table was enlivened by the newspapers which made much of the ‘daring incursion’ into the German-controlled harbour and of the ships sunk and two battalions destroyed by the bold British tars. Captain Smallwood was mentioned repeatedly and his First Lieutenant was named, as was the ‘sharp-shooting gunnery officer, Lieutenant Sturton’ who had sunk a gunboat and a munitions ship and as well decimated a battalion of riflemen and machine gunners who had attempted to hold the mole.

“Didn’t know quite how heroic we were, Sturton, old chap!”

“A good thing we have the Telegraph to explain it to us, Dacres! We horny-handed sons of the sea don’t understand such matters, or so it would seem.”

Sir David raised an eyebrow and asked whether it had been so very dangerous as the paper suggested.

Simon laughed.

“We took no casualties, sir. My gunners dealt with the single machine gun that opened fire and dispersed a company of riflemen very quickly. It was not a walkover, but nor was it any great battle, sir.”

“Well said, Mr Sturton.”

The girls looked thoughtful; heroes were well-regarded just at that moment. Self-effacing young gentlemen of aristocratic background were also much-liked in the marriage market. They were aware that naval officers must not marry as lieutenants, but wartime was traditionally good for quick promotions. Add to that, he was not unhandsome, dressed as if he had a private income and was correctly spoken and properly modest.

Simon was escorted for the next two days; walking out in the Park or taking a toddle down Oxford and Bond Streets to look at the stores and see who was about, all took place with the female Dacres in company, as well as their wide-awake mother to act as referee.

On their final evening they sat longer than had been usual over their port after dinner, the men talking over serious matters.

Sir David led the discussion.

“The news from France is not good. The Germans are pushing hard towards Paris and there is a confused series of melees in western Belgium and northern France, seemingly centred around Ypres. We hear more in the City than gets into the papers. Battalions are being pushed across from England on every boat – more than had been envisaged. Consols are falling, hard!”

He stopped to briefly explain to the naval pair that Consols were government stocks and bonds, long-term loans at fixed interest; their price reflected confidence in government and country. At the moment their level was lower than in living memory.

“All the young men are joining up, Father.”

Sir David glanced at his elder son and shook his head.

“They are, my boy, and many are following Jonathan’s example, going off to France untrained and ignorant of war. I suspect that few of them will return. Even so, it is hard not to join them. What do you say, Joseph?”

Dacres disapproved, vigorously.

“No, David! Definitely not! Two out of three of us going to war is enough for the family. To put all three sons at risk would be unconscionable! The name must continue. Jonathan is in the thick of it, from the sound of things. Do you know where his battalion was sent, sir?”

“No, Joseph. Not as a certainty. I suspect they were sent with the bulk of the troops to the Belgian frontier north of Paris. I do not think they went to western Flanders. Whichever, the Green Howards will not be at the rear.”

“A new second lieutenant in a fighting regiment, sir – at the very front of things.”

“Exactly, Joseph. You as well, in destroyers, will see action repeatedly. You have fired your guns three times in the first week of the war!”

Simon nodded - quietly, for family business was none of his concern.

David seemed to slump in his chair.

“So, I must stay at home, making money in the City. When my children ask me in a few years, ‘what did you do in the war, daddy’, I must answer, ‘I sold Consols short, my dears, and made a killing’.”

They made no reply.

David looked up and laughed.

“Self pity is never handsome, I fear! I shall remain in London, take a wife and produce an heir and ensure that my brothers have wealth to come home to. Some sort of public service, to show willing, Father… What would be best?”