Raging Sea, Searing Sky

by Christopher Nicole

  He put his hands in his pockets and walked back towards the road. He had some hope that she might have relented and be waiting by the gate, but she wasn’t. He certainly didn’t want to return to the flat at that moment, so he walked to Hyde Park Corner and turned down Piccadilly, shoulders hunched, oblivious of the passersby, until he was jostled by three hurrying young women, and heard one say to the other, ‘Great hulking lout. He ought to be in uniform.’

  Lew’s head jerked. Of course he ought to be in uniform. He would far rather be in uniform than at Winchester College. And in uniform he would not only be avenging Mom and Shirley, he would be forgetting May.

  And as if it had suddenly been placed there by fate, he found himself staring at a huge portrait of a man’s face. The man wore a military cap and sported a handlebar moustache, and his hand was up and pointing, above a large caption which read ‘YOUR COUNTRY WANTS YOU’.

  Next door to the picture there was a small office, and several men were lined up outside, while there was a soldier standing to attention in the doorway, admitting them one at a time. Lew gazed at them, and the soldier saw him and called out, ‘There’s room for you too, young fellow.’

  The British army! He had never envisaged fighting for any country save his own. But then, he had never envisaged fighting in an army at all. But he did want to fight, and he didn’t care who he fought for, as long as he was fighting against Germany. Only he wanted to fight the German navy, and their U-boats. Besides, he was a McGann.

  He went closer. ‘Can I join the Navy here?’

  ‘The Navy? What do you want to do that for, laddie? You’ll get seasick.’

  ‘I’m a sailor,’ Lew told him. ‘Not a soldier.’

  The soldier peered at him, then shrugged. ‘Well...if you want to be a fool, laddie, there’s a Navy recruiting office round the corner.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Lew hurried on, and saw the sailor standing in the doorway.

  Chapter Three

  The North Sea, 1916

  ‘You have done what?’ Joe McGann inquired, his voice unusually soft.

  ‘I...I felt I had to do something, Father,’ Lew explained.

  ‘Something,’ Joe snorted. ‘At fifteen. Well...’

  ‘I told them I was eighteen,’ Lew said. ‘I guess I’m a little big for my age.’

  ‘I guess you are. But not as big a liar. Tomorrow morning you and I are going down to that recruiting office to set the record straight.’

  Lew licked his lips. ‘I...I swore an oath,’ he said. ‘And they gave me a medical...’

  ‘A medical?’

  ‘Well, I had to hold my breath for sixty seconds, and touch my toes, and...’ he felt in his pocket. ‘I have a rail ticket to Portsmouth. I’m to report there tomorrow. The petty officer said if I didn’t turn up I’d be listed as a deserter. And...he said if I’d lied to him I’d go to gaol.’

  ‘Rubbish,’ Joe McGann declared. ‘I’ll get the ambassador on to it.’

  Lew stood up. ‘Please, Father. It’s something I want to do.’

  Joe McGann frowned at him. ‘Because of your mother and Shirley?’

  ‘Maybe. But only partly. This is the greatest war in history, Father. I want to be a part of it.’

  ‘Before the mast? No McGann has ever served before the mast.’

  ‘With respect, Father, Great Harry McGann served before the mast before he was commissioned. And so did Toby McGann, after he was disgraced.’

  Joe McGann sighed; he had forgotten that he had taught his son the family history in every detail. ‘And Annapolis?’

  ‘Well, heck, if I spend a year or two with the British navy fighting a war won’t that help me to qualify for Annapolis?’

  Joe McGann scratched his head. ‘If your mother were here she’d kill me.’

  Because he was going to say yes. ‘Oh, Father,’ Lew said. ‘I’ll make you proud of me. I promise.’

  Joe rumpled his hair. ‘I am already proud of you, you louse. How I wish I were coming with you.’

  *

  Indeed Joe McGann wanted to go down to Portsmouth as well, but Lew talked him out of it; he didn’t want to report for duty with a Navy captain at his side. So they said goodbye in the morning before he went to Victoria Station for the train. ‘I’ll be keeping my eye on you,’ Father said.

  ‘I’ll remember that,’ Lew promised.

  He was so excited he had not slept at all. He was excited about every aspect of the situation, about not having to go to Winchester, about being able to put May firmly out of his mind, equally about being able to do something to atone for Mom and Shirley, and maybe stop having them constantly on his mind as well, about actually being on his way to join the Navy, even if it was the wrong Navy...and most of all, about Father’s praise. All he had ever wanted was Father’s praise, and it had been hard to come by.

  The railway warrant was for third class, and he found himself in a crowded compartment, while very soon he also discovered that there were several young men bound for Portsmouth. They looked at him somewhat suspiciously at first, both because of his clothes, which were those of a public schoolboy, and because of his American accent, but he was clearly not the sort of chap anyone wanted to offend — he was several inches taller and broader than any of them — and they decided to make the best of it.

  ‘Lewis,’ remarked one freckle faced youngster. ‘That’s an odd name. I’m Tommy.’

  ‘Well, hi,’ Lew said. ‘You going into the Navy?’

  ‘We all are,’ said the next boy, who had red hair and was predictably called Ginger. ‘But you’re a Yank. So what are you doing?’

  ‘Joining up,’ Lew explained.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I want to fight the Germans.’

  ‘Why?’

  Lew considered. But as he had undergone the ordeal, it occurred to him that he might as well profit by it. ‘I was on the Lusitania,’ he said.

  ‘Heck,’ Ginger commented.

  Word spread around, and all the boys, and most of the other passengers as well, gathered round to hear his experiences. Which he was happy to relate. He even told them about Mom and Shirley, although he omitted May. It did him good to talk about it.’

  ‘Bloody Huns,’ said one of the adult men who had been listening. ‘When you read about what they’ve been doing in Belgium...’

  ‘Bombarding our towns,’ said a woman. ‘Just wait until Admiral Jellicoe catches them. Then we’ll show them a thing or two.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Tommy said, eyes glowing with fervour. ‘That’s what we’re going to do.’

  By the time the train reached Portsmouth, some three hours after leaving London, the recruits were all firm friends. Which was just as well, because waiting for them on the platform was a petty officer, very smart and not half as pleasant as the one who had signed Lew on in Piccadilly. ‘Bloody hell,’ he remarked. ‘What a shower.’ He looked Lew up and down. ‘Where are you for, sonny? The submarine service?’ Which seemed to amuse him because he laughed for some time, while the recruits watched him uncertainly, unsure whether or not they were supposed to join in. Then he suddenly snapped to attention. ‘All right, you bastards,’ he said. ‘Fall in. Column of twos. Look lively.’

  No one was sure what he meant by the commands either, but they stood shoulder to shoulder, while some of the people on the platform clapped, and then he marched them off on to the street, and along several streets to the barracks, a good distance away, actually on the edge of the harbour.

  His name was Chief Petty Officer Wright, and over the next few weeks he was omnipresent. The recruits were first of all given a more thorough medical, in which they were stripped to the skin — which seemed to embarrass his companions far more than Lew — and poked and prodded and made to urinate into a bottle, and from which two of their number were rejected, to their great distress, then they were issued with uniforms, the most ridiculous garb Lew had ever seen, for it consisted of tight bottomed trousers which suddenly flared into wide legs — and were c
alled ‘bell bottoms’ — and a loose jumper, all in dark blue serge, with a huge collar which had to be worn at just the right angle, and a rather odd brimless round blue hat with a strap to be fastened under the chin, which also had to be worn at just the right angle, and heavy black leather shoes, with for shore wear, and they were permanently on shore at the moment, white leather spatterdashes, or spats as they were known.

  Once outfitted they were lined up to be inspected by an officer, from whose four massive stripes on the cuffs of his uniform Lew gathered was a captain, and was, in fact, the commander of the entire establishment. He made them a patriotic speech about how they were about to commence fighting for their king and country in the oldest and most famous service while Mr Wright stood at his shoulder and glared at them, willing them to keep still, not with entire success. But Mr Wright had also apparently had the time to whisper in Captain Lucas’s ear, for when he had finished his speech, the captain said, ‘Stand forward the man from the Lusitania.’

  Lew hesitated, and was nudged in the ribs by Tommy. So he took two paces forward and did his best to assume what he supposed might be the British version of attention.

  ‘Mr Wright tells me you are an American,’ Captain Lucas remarked.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Lew acknowledged.

  ‘He has also told me of your sad bereavement. You have our sympathy, boy. We are going to teach you how to kill Germans, because that is what you want to do, eh?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Lew agreed enthusiastically, because actually it was, whenever he thought about it.

  ‘Good lad,’ Captain Lucas said. ‘Good lad.’ Lew wondered what would happen if he ever met Father, which was not entirely unlikely as they were both currently shore-based.

  Then they were dismissed and shown to a barracks, where there were already several older boys, in whose ‘care’ they were to be. Lew didn’t much like the look of them, and it was obvious they didn’t much like the look of him, either. But once again his size and reputation stood him in good stead, and Ginger and Tommy as well, as they were regarded as his special chums, and the inevitable hazing was low key. Except by Chief Petty Officer Wright, who marched in to tell them what a useless lot of bastards they were, and immediately had them out on the parade ground to drill.

  ‘Just as if we’d joined the bloody brigade of guards,’ Ginger muttered.

  Ginger and Tom both came from the East End of London, were over eighteen years of age — and never suspected Lew wasn’t — and were experienced young members of the unemployed to whom the war had meant a chance to earn a living. They had, remarkably, the highest respect for authority, especially authority in a uniform, while cheerfully grumbling about it in a most mutinous manner. But unlike Lew, they knew absolutely nothing about the sea. Chief Petty Officer Wright was indeed taken aback by the proficiency of the recruit he had initially least liked. He was able to curse Lew to his heart’s content, as well as the rest of them, as he put them through their drill paces, but when it came to the initial lessons in seamanship, from handling the sailing cutter to splicing two pieces of rope together, he could only watch in amazement at Lew’s expertise. ‘Well kiss my ass,’ he remarked.

  ‘What do you expect, Mr Wright?’ Tommy asked. ‘He was on the Lusitania.’

  The two facts did not exactly relate, but Wright stopped the lesson to have Lew tell the rest of the class all about it, having apparently decided to make Lew his star pupil. From then on he was a hero even to his senior mates.

  Life in the training school was actually very good after that, although it was very hectic. He gathered they were being given a six-month course in six weeks, as they were required to join their ships as soon as possible, and thus they were worked from dawn until dusk. Apart from the drilling, which actually occupied only a small part of each morning, and the lecturing, on naval history, and the true lessons, for several of the recruits were virtually illiterate, there was the serious, and enjoyable business, of becoming seamen. If Lew had little to learn apart from naval etiquette, the correct way to salute an officer, or to ship oars when bringing a barge alongside, the pleasure of handling warps and actually rowing or sailing the cutter was immense, while they gazed at the huge warships moored at Spithead, which every so often disappeared into the night in search of the Germans, conjuring up all manner of exciting possibilities.

  But they were to be fighting sailors, and so an hour was spent on the rifle range every morning, banging away at the butts. ‘Because you never know when you’ll be members of a shore party, and have to behave like bloody soldiers,’ said Marine Sergeant Peterson, who was their rifle instructor.

  There was a good deal of sport, and if Lew could make little of soccer and even less of cricket, although with his size and strength he could hit a ball very far when he connected, he found that, again because of his physical attributes, he was a natural boxer, which made him more popular than ever with Mr Wright, who soon had him matched against a heavyweight from the next barracks. It seemed the entire camp turned out to watch, and if the fight was to Marquess of Queensbury rules, which meant that one could throw one’s opponent across the knee as well as using one’s fists, Lew had become used to this in training with the PT instructors, and won very easily, to become quite the cock of his barracks.

  There were also less enjoyable aspects of their training, at least to Lew, which the others took in their strides. These were the daily grinds of ‘making’ one’s hammock — for although they were still ashore they were required to sleep as they would have to at sea, and the hammock had to be rearranged every morning as Mr Wright liked it — and of kit inspection, which involved polishing his shoes until they shone, something he had never been very good at. He also had to get used to living entirely without privacy, in the company of nineteen other young men, all of them much older than himself, and few of whom, whatever their inhibitions about nudity, had any inhibitions about anything else. The swearing was unlike anything he had ever heard on the Long Island Farm, as was the belching and the farting. Nearly everyone else in the barracks smoked incessantly, and they all eagerly lined up for their daily tot of grog, which was a mixture of rum and water, named after a famous admiral called Vernon, who had introduced the ration, and who had been nicknamed Old Grog from a cloak he had worn made of grogram. The drink was issued twice daily, at noon and at six in the evening, and if Lew was unable to find much attraction in smoking, he soon came, with the others, to look forward to his half pint of powerful stimulant.

  The recruits were also entirely earthy young men, who gloried in their own physical attributes and in recounting their many triumphs amongst the opposite sex. Lew was of especial interest because of his size, and aroused considerable disappointment when it was discovered that his penis was no longer than anyone else’s, having been duly measured. ‘But the girls will go for you,’ one of the senior hands, named Robson, told him. ‘Oh, they will.’

  With which, apparently, in mind, Robson insisted upon taking Lew under his wing when they were given their first pass, called shore leave even if it simply meant walking through the barracks’ gate. By then they had been three weeks in training — it seemed to have been suspected that they might have deserted had they been allowed out sooner — and had been given their first pay packet, another totally peculiar sensation for Lew, who had never actually had any money of his own; there had not been anything to spend money on at the farm, and when he had gone into the village he had simply put whatever he needed on Mom’s slate. Now he was told to bring it all with him, as he and Ginger and Tommy faithfully followed Robby into Portsmouth itself.

  They first of all went to a pub, as the English called an inn, and drank several pints of beer. Lew had never tasted English draught before, and he felt as if someone had pumped him full of air. They sat around a table and tried to look worldly wise, until Robby spotted a couple of girls at the far end of the counter and went over to ‘chat them up’.

  He was gone for some time. ‘I reckon he’s leaving us out i
n the cold,’ Ginger growled.

  ‘Yeah,’ Tommy said. ‘If I don’t get a fuck tonight I’m going to go stark raving mad.’

  Lew began to feel quite alarmed. He had joined the Navy to forget about girls in general, and May in particular. Besides, a fuck? If he had no real idea what the word meant, apart from its use for swearing, he had rapidly gained an impression by listening to his shipmates’ conversation. The idea that they could just go out and buy the use of a woman’s body, that she would actually permit that, was breathtaking. Added to the beer it nearly made him feel sick.

  Robby stood above them. ‘All fixed up,’ he said. ‘I tried to get them to raise two more, but they say they can handle us. You chaps game?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Tommy said, getting up.

  ‘How much?’ Ginger asked.

  ‘Half a crown each.’

  ‘Half a crown?’ Ginger cried. Half a crown was two shillings and six pence, and their pay was a shilling a day; after deductions three weeks’ pay had left them with fifteen shillings in their pockets. ‘It’d be cheaper to jerk each other off.’

  ‘But not half as much fun,’ Robby insisted. ‘These are real lookers, man. One of them has tits like a camel. You with me?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Tommy said.

  He and Robby headed for the girls, and Lew and Ginger, after exchanging shrugs, followed. Tommy and Robby were already buying the girls drinks, and they weren’t having beer at a penny a pint, but gin at fourpence. ‘What the hell,’ Robby said, ‘we’ll go shares. Wanda, this is Lewis.’

  ‘Well, hello, big boy,’ Wanda said, slipping off her bar stool. She was tall and slender and had yellow hair; she reminded him of May, Lew realised to his horror — although May would undoubtedly be insulted by any comparison between her fresh beauty and this faded hard-faced and hard-eyed young woman — and now that she was up close Lew realised that she wasn’t so young, at that.