“An excellent comparison, Harris. Tea and a wad at any time of day or night for tuppence? Try for slightly better quality than that, there’s a good fellow!”
Harris left in near despair, debating the courses open to him. He found he had a choice of volunteering for hazardous service, suicide or obeying the upstart lieutenant commander’s orders. The three options were almost equally undesirable. He was, he decided, too old for hazardous service and too young for suicide. That left obedience to command. He slouched into the kitchens and gave the orders for the week.
“Feed the bastards! As well as we can with the standard issue. Make sure there’s the makings of a hot dinner for any pilot flying late. Forget about anything fancy. Where’s the bloody cooking brandy?”
The cooks listened and obeyed – it mattered very little to them what they sent out, as long as the quality was good enough that they would not be posted out to a less comfortable number. None of them wanted to end up in the kitchens at the depots at Scapa Flow or in the galley of a destroyer. They were comfortable where they were.
Peter sat at the head of the table as senior officer aboard that evening. It was a new experience – he did not find it very exciting. The food was adequate, he thought, perhaps not up to Calliope’s standards – he was not sure and did not care, he was not an epicure. As for the wine – there was white with the fish and red with the meat and that was all he knew or cared about.
A couple of gins saw him through the evening. He was surprised that the boys all sat quietly talking with a single beer, supposed that few of them knew what was permitted in the wardroom of an evening. He noticed that none of the decks of cards were put into use. He had expected a bridge table at least; perhaps they were too young. He did not object to a quiet night.
It rained in the morning, visibility poor enough that training flights were not wise. They would have sent operational balloons out; there was no need to take the risk on training. Peter gave leave for the day to go into Folkestone, a bigger town and used to the navy, for shopping, allowing two of the tenders as transport. One of the remaining pair was sent to the railway station, in expectation of additional officers coming in, the second was given to the mechanics who needed transport to and from Shoreham during the day to pick up oddments of spares and tools, they said. The two lorries assigned to them, both steam Fodens, very slow but able to carry large loads, chuffed off to London, to Wormwood Scrubs, to pick up specific and bulky pieces of machinery that were essential to the running of the hangars.
Peter became aware of the extent of his ignorance that morning. He had been a deck officer, knowing nothing of the engineroom and very little of the guns, a capable seaman and efficient, though not a specialist, in navigation. He was not well-suited to the administration of a field where the mechanical side was of overwhelming importance.
He was relieved when the Crossley from the station pottered in and dropped off an untidy lieutenant and a large amount of baggage in the form of suitcases and bags, not a naval officer’s trunk. He could deal with people far better than he could with paper.
The lieutenant wandered in, shaking raindrops off himself.
“Crawley, sir. Dicky, that is.”
He seemed surprised that Peter did not immediately share his own Christian name.
“I am the Chemist, sir. In charge of the gas generation plant. Picked me up from the refinery at Middlesbrough last week. By order, like it or lump it! Told me I was to be a naval officer as well as doing my real job of producing hydrogen for the blimps and storing it safely and inflating when necessary. I think they have it in mind to have only the one plant along the coast here. From what they said, they will send all of the blimps here to be inflated as need arises. Simple enough. I should have time for other activities as well. There was talk of making flares and things. Should be able to keep myself busy. They insisted I must wear a uniform – pretend to be a sailor, of all things – but I have brought proper lab coats for working in. Can’t keep clean on site, you know.”
Peter was rarely taken aback. This was a new sort of officer.
“Right… Make yourself at home, Lieutenant Crawley, and then find the generating plant and inspect it and report on its state of readiness. I will need to know how it is manned and whether the people there are satisfactory. Hopefully the Commanding Officer will arrive today and you can report to him. I am senior body here at the moment but will be in charge of flying only as soon as the Commander gets here.”
“Oh, good to know that sort of thing. Thanks. Am I supposed to salute you now?”
“No. You can’t. We are in an office – a cabin, we call it, being Navy – and are both bareheaded. No salutes without hats on. The salute is to touch the King’s badge in respect, you see.”
“Oh! Is that right? Never knew that, old chap. Where do I live, do you know?”
“In the wardroom – the Cottage just next door. Payne will have you taken there, with all of your luggage.”
“Had to bring everything with me, old chap. I was in digs in Middlesbrough, gave them up and had to bring all of my books with me, and some clothes as well. Got some uniforms, too – they gave them to me last week. Didn’t tell me which was which or when to wear the different sorts.”
Crawley was a lieutenant and had no entitlement to a personal servant. He would never survive with just a shared man.
“Payne!”
“Sir?”
“Who is the CPO in charge of the establishment, the coxswain, as it were?”
It occurred belatedly that he should have met him on arrival at HMS Polegate.
“CPO Biggs, sir. He was at the naval hospital in Dover yesterday, sir. Ingrown toenails that had to be surgically removed, sir. Two of them. Both big toes.”
The three winced – that hurt.
“He has returned to duty this morning, sir. Wearing his boots.”
They winced again.
“Can you ask him to see me, please?”
“Yes, sir. He has a cabin just along from ours.”
As the most important of the lower deck on the field, he would be close to the CO’s location.
Biggs appeared inside three minutes, coming to the salute gingerly, not stamping to attention.
“Take a seat, CPO. I know it’s out of the ordinary – circumstances demand you take your weight off your feet.”
“Thank you, sir. A chair will be welcome.”
Biggs was middle-aged and going grey, slightly built and of medium height. He looked an ordinary, insignificant little fellow until he spoke, when he showed confident and commanding.
“Lieutenant Crawley here, CPO. He is our Chemist and will be in charge of the gas plant. He was a civilian until last week. He has had no officer training of any sort. He knows nothing of the Navy, including how to wear a uniform. He has been in the habit of giving his clothes to his landlady to launder.”
In other words, he did not know how to keep himself and his uniform presentable.
“As a lieutenant, he would not in normal circumstances be entitled to his own servant.”
“Can’t be having that, sir. He will need the odd word of advice as well, I must imagine, sir. Special circumstances, sir, such as occasionally occur. I shall get that all seen to, sir. I don’t know all of the men on the ship yet, sir. Soon will. I will have a suitable servant for the gentleman by lunchtime, sir. The CO is due in at eleven thirty, sir. I shall have all set up for Mr Crawley before then. I can show him how to wear a uniform myself, sir.”
Biggs rose, painfully, to his feet, turned to Crawley.
“If you would come with me, sir. No, go in front of me, sir, officers first through a door.”
They departed, Biggs managing to march and keep a straight back and a confident expression, all as was proper for his position.