Walking back Fraser enthused over Miss Halliday’s blonde good looks; ‘a strong, handsome gel’, did not Naseby agree?
Peter did, without any great enthusiasm.
“Prefer them dark, myself. Young Miss Hawes-Parker is far more my sort, you know. Too young and so am I – no chance of getting married these ten years, before I make Commander. She’ll have a young family before I am in the way of getting spliced, Fraser.”
“Would have been, before the war, Naseby. Now, a strong possibility of making your half ring this year and the full within another two. The RNAS is expanding and those of us who are in at the beginning have every chance of going up in the world fast.”
They climbed the hill, both fit and not noticing the incline, wandered into the wardroom to discover a batch of half a dozen new officers just come in.
“All subs, Naseby. Might as well help them get settled. They’ll be crewing the new SS blimps due in next week, so some of them will be yours at Polegate. Commander’s over in the corner, look.”
They ambled across and nodded to Finlay.
“Just the chaps! Right, gentlemen! Mr Fraser will be senior in the air at Capel and Mr Naseby at Polegate. Sublieutenants Harker, Tubbs and Bracegirdle will be going to Polegate, under Mr Naseby.”
Peter stepped back and waved his three to sit at a table. He signalled a waiter for tea.
“Have you got your rooms yet?”
“Yes, sir. All done and dusted. I’m Harker, sir. Joined six months ago and volunteered for RNAS last week. Been riding all my life, sir. Should find piloting a balloon easy, sir!”
“I’m glad to hear that, Harker. You will be crew for a few days until we have everything settled. You will need to learn the wireless and how to handle a Lewis and the other simple jobs a crewman has. Master them and we’ll teach you to fly and you will get your own blimp. Should not take long – can’t, in fact, we need the men as the new blimps are coming out of the factories now. What about you, Bracegirdle?”
“Just had six months with the Naval Brigade, sir. Promoted and saw the chance to volunteer to get out of the trenches. I’ll fly as high as you want, sir, to get out of that hell on Earth!”
“I have been told it’s bad, Bracegirdle. Is it that terrible?”
“Indescribable, sir. Dirty, foul smelling, infested with lice, rat-ridden, cold and wet. Bad food and stinking men – we all stank, going three weeks at a time up at the front with no chance to wash. The occasional shell and the machine guns firing overhead if they thought they saw movement – they were less of a threat. Twice we attacked, straightening out the line, marching over the mud at a crawl and going down to the machine guns before we tried to cut the wire because the artillery hadn’t done the job. Fifty percent losses each time, sir. We left the corpses of our men hanging on the wire because we couldn’t retrieve them.”
“Jesus! Sorry I asked!”
“It’s not good, sir. I’ll fly, happily!”
“So you will. Tubbs, what’s your background?”
“Dartmouth, sir. Appointed to Colossus in January ’12, sir, after getting measles and being unwell for weeks. Didn’t do so well there, sir. Couldn’t seem to get the hang of life aboard a battleship. All those bugles and things… I was made sub last week on condition I applied for the RNAS.”
Tubbs seemed an unfortunate mortal, a weaselly little fellow with nothing to recommend him.
“You’ve got the advantage that you’re lightweight, Tubbs. Makes for less of a demand on the lifting capacity. Can put another pan of Lewis ammunition aboard.”
Tubbs suspected that might be a joke. He was used to being laughed at.
“Right, gentlemen. Mess dress for dinner. Never anything more formal. You will be issued flying coats and should get yourselves warm gloves and scarves and a woolly waistcoat or jumper if you can. I am told the submarines issue their own sweaters, being cold machines, and I shall ask the Captain if we can have some.”
Peter had only just thought of that. It seemed a good idea now he considered it. He buttonholed Captain Fitzjames as they made ready to take off next morning.
“Submarine sweaters? What are they?”
“Polo necked, thick wool jumpers, sir. Pull over your head sort. Very warm up to the chin.”
“What a sensible idea, Naseby! I shall speak to the powers-that-be this morning. On the telephone. A good chance we shall be able to get hold of some. Another useful suggestion, Nasby! Keep ‘em coming!”
Peter took off for the second time ever, on his own, panicking over the placement of the crab pot, the exact setting of the horizontal fins, the sound of the engine, the direction of the wind – everything he could imagine. Nothing went wrong and he settled at two thousand feet, as recommended for the patrol, and set off for the west at a steady forty miles an hour into the wind. He saw the Isle of Wight and Portland Bill and worked his way down the Dorset and Devon coasts until he and Horrocks had travelled for four hours. He cautiously brought the blimp round in a long about turn until they were heading east, ten miles an hour faster for having the wind astern. He scanned the sea and saw nothing, other than water. Horrocks stared as well and saw the same.
At the end of seven and a half hours Horrocks dropped the trailing rope and the ground party caught hold and pulled them down and they hopped out of their cockpits.
“Saw nothing, sir.”
“Perhaps so, Naseby. I wonder what might have seen you and crept away, giving up its mission for today? I have put in the request for submarine sweaters. If we get them, they will be delivered to Polegate and Capel. Are you satisfied with your crewman, Horrocks?”
“Wholly, sir. Alert and on top of the job. Mr Finlay mentioned there was some consideration of commissions to the lower deck, sir. If so, I would recommend Horrocks. He would do very well with us, sir.”
“And after the war, Naseby?”
“I doubt he would find things easy, sir. But, assuming he makes full lieutenant, he will be in a good position to go into civilian life with the set of skills he will possess. If he stays with us in the RNAS, then he can be looked after, piloting blimps and making his way up in our service.”
“Sounds as if you are not thinking of going back to the other navy, Naseby.”
“So it does, sir… I hadn’t thought about, consciously, that is… You are right, sir. I think I have found a home in the RNAS. I always liked being at sea and sailing a ship, keeping a watch; not half as good as piloting my own Sea Scout all along the southern coast and back again, sir!”
“So say I, Naseby. You are one of us. Lucky thing, almost drowning C-in-C Portsmouth!”
“Fortunate, when you consider it, sir. I would never have considered volunteering otherwise.”
“Go in and get warm, Naseby. It’s cold flying. Cooks should have hot soup ready for men coming off patrol.”
Peter changed and wandered into the wardroom, heard Harker loudly telling the other new men how anxious he was to get up in his own blimp. Piece of cake, it would be!
So it would, he thought, wondering whether Harker was one of those who would break under the first strain. Some of the overconfident, loudmouthed types delivered everything they boasted about… Not all, however. There was a lower-deck expression for that sort – ‘all mouth, no trousers’; it had always seemed particularly apt for the overtly manly, jolly good chaps who shouted so loud and exposed themselves in process.
That could wait for a day, for the moment there was a bowl of hot oxtail soup coming his way, and very welcome after nearly eight hours up in the cold.
There were things called ‘thermos flasks’, he recalled. They had been about in the shops for two or three years before the war, expensive luxuries. They kept things hot for hours. Next time he went up to Town he would drop into Harrods, see what they had. Binoculars as well. A pair of strong glasses would do no end of good, he suspected.