Andrew Wareham - Falling into Battle

“Of course, sir. I suppose their staff officers could bend down and count their toes, sir – or would they be too busy kissing them?”

“Precisely, Sturton. Despite the best endeavours of our newspapers to obfuscate the truth, it is clear the Germans are advancing – although that, of course, is not to say that the valiant British are retreating. Far from it! Our gallant heroes are fighting tooth and nail and clawing their way forwards in the opposite direction to the German frontier.”

“I am sure that makes simple good sense to the Mail and Telegraph, sir. The Times of course, does not have a front page and therefore need not have banner headlines proclaiming falsehoods for the benefit of the literate.”

“Well perceived, Sturton. I am amazed by the depth of understanding you display – don’t do so in front of the Commodore!”

“No, sir. I know better than that, sir!”

“Excellent! I foresee a great future for you, young man. Provided you can clearly demonstrate fundamental stupidity in the presence of your elders, you will undoubtedly be promoted far beyond your merits. The example of Beatty is one to bear in mind – cock your cap rakishly; smile for the cameras; draw your cutlass and charge everything in sight; salute your admirals’ wives and kowtow to Royalty - and you will become one of our youngest admirals!”

Simon winced – they were within the hearing of at least six ratings, any or all of whom might talk in the wet canteen. Captain Smallwood’s words would be known to the whole of the Harwich base within the week.

“Fear not, Sturton. Neither Tyrwhitt nor Keyes has any great love for the gentleman – they are Jellicoe’s men, through and through.”

“So it might seem, am I, sir.”

“You are one of my officers, therefore you are what I am, Sturton.”

They returned to base after another blank sweep. It seemed that the Germans found the run down the North Sea all the way from the Kiel Canal to be too great for their small ships and they were not prepared to risk their heavy units in the hope of getting into the troopships in the Channel.

Simon sat down with Dacres in their little wardroom after getting a few hours of sleep.

“Why, sir? If the German High Seas Fleet had chosen to sail, they might have managed to push a flotilla of battlecruisers into the Channel. They would have taken losses, but they might have destroyed a division of the BEF at sea and shelled the dumps of ammunition and stores around Calais. Surely that would have been worth losing a few battleships on its own. As well, it would force the Admiralty to distribute the Grand Fleet all along the East Coast to prevent it happening again.”

“They could have crippled the BEF – interrupted the flow of men for weeks, Sturton. It is not impossible that the war could have been brought to an end. I can only think that the Kaiser wanted to keep his fleet in being. He had rather have a threat sat in Kiel than squadrons taking losses in the North Sea. It strikes me as unwise – but if our leaders were wise men, they would not have gone to war and then we would not have our Mentions, with all the good they will do for our careers. Three weeks of war and we have done very well by doing very little, when it comes down to it. The whisper is that Admiral Keyes has something big in line for us, by the way. We are to go off hunting the Hun – he is Fritz no more, it would seem. All captains are off to a meeting this afternoon, to stand in awe and delight as our masters unveil their thoughts to them.”

“Why the ‘Hun’?”

“The newspapers seem to think that ‘Fritz’ is too charming a name for our enemy. Before your time, of course, back in the Boxer days at the turn of the century, the Kaiser made a fool of himself, sending his forces off with orders to behave like Huns and wipe out every Chink in China. The press seem to think they should be Huns again – you have seen the stories of what is happening to the Belgian population? Bayoneted babies and raped nuns to be found on every street corner, according to the newspapers – wouldn’t have thought there were that many nuns in Belgium, but no doubt our masters know better than us.”

“Interesting how they get their reporters there to discover what’s going on, sir. Does the German army extend special visitors’ passes to them?”

“Probably. I expect there has been some atrocious behaviour – it’s war and the soldiers have been let off their leashes – but I don’t see it being as bad as the papers make out. Glad I ain’t a Belgian, though.”

The destroyers took their turns at the oiling wharf and then replenished stores and replaced used practice rounds from their magazines.

“Everything up to top, Sturton?”

“Yes, sir. Ammunition for all guns and extra pans for the Lewises, all filled and in the racks, sir. Three-o-threes all checked over and clips filled, sir. Had a sharp put on the cutlasses, and on the bayonets we haven’t got, sir.”

“Very good. Be sure that the cutlasses are to hand and that the boarding party all have their unlawful bayonets, Sturton. Were those letters for you in the mail?”

As an orphan, Simon normally received no post.

Simon flushed – he had received a letter from each of Dacres’ sisters, enquiring kindly of his life aboard his little ship and wondering if he was likely to see leave again that autumn. There had been a missive from his trustees as well, informing him in measured and grave terms that due to their unremitting care for his interests his capital sum had grown and that his income was as a result somewhat increased. He might expect to see two hundred and fifty pounds placed to his account in the September quarter.

“Yes, sir. My trustees are doing well for me out of the war, or so it would seem.”

Captain Smallwood was only a little pleased to hear that. His own family was agricultural, possessing substantial acreages in East Anglia; they were enjoying a good harvest but were finding that their costs had risen – wages especially – and that profits, strangely, were falling. Add to that, taxes were not insignificant.

Dacres overheard and said that his own father was enjoying a fine start to the war – he had apparently sold some stocks short – and presumably bought others long – and as a result had made a pretty addition to the family fortunes.

“Good stuff, sir, or so it seems. Me brother, David, has been promised a seat in the Tory interest, so he’ll be tucked away in Westminster for the duration. No sense having the three of us at risk, sir.”

Captain Smallwood had an elder brother who was far too important to the farms to go to war, had no objection to such a sensible disposition of the family.

“Two younger brothers and four of my cousins have gone off to war, Dacres – don’t seem right for all of them to go. The two youngest, a brother and a cousin, have been held back at their depots – boys of eighteen, barely, but the other four are in France already. What of the Sturton clan, young man?”

“I don’t know, sir. I think I have but two cousins, and Dacres’ father said they had both joined, sir.”

“All of the eggs in one basket. Not the best of ideas for the family. Very patriotic, though.”

“Are the casualties so very high, sir?”

“According to the newspapers – and they are not saying much about the lists they print – they are higher than the worst days of the Boer War. Young officers are taking the brunt, it would seem, leading from the front.”

It was inevitable, particularly when so many regiments had taken on young gentlemen and given them no training in war.

“Not to worry, gentlemen – we in the Navy are still training our young men, although some of them are finding that experience to be curtailed. There are some hundreds of boys aboard the Live Bait Squadron.”