Battle Ensign

by Thomas E. Lightburn

  ‘If you ask me, PO,’ Forbes remarked, giving Frost a meaningful look. ‘Our esteemed first lieutenant is on a promise.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  A little after 1915, Manley returned the salutes of the duty PO and QM, then walked down the gangway and made his way through the dock yard. A warm wind blew in from the Solent and the evening was dry and balmy.

  It was still daylight and the masts of Nelson’s flagship, HMS Victory, could be seen poking into the clear blue sky some distance away in her permanent dry dock. Returning the salutes of several ratings, he showed his pay book to a keen-eyed policeman and walked through the gate into Queen Street. Traffic was sparse. He stopped on the pavement, hoping to see a dark green MG. Upon seeing no sign of one, he gave an impatient sigh and looked around.

  Away to his right, a row of stalls on The Hard, a wide road running parallel to the harbour front, sold pasties and mugs of tea to a crowd of sailors. On the opposite side, next to the Keppel’s Head was Gieves, Naval Tailors, with its heavily taped windows was, despite the lateness of the hour, still open for business. Close by, lines of pale green double-decker buses waited to take eager sailors into the city centre and its environs. Further along a cobbled road led to the station and a covered slipway, leading onto the ferry terminus. Across the bay, the rooftops of houses and church spires of Gosport were silhouetted against the evening skyline; while lying in the dark green waters of the harbour, a row of four sleek destroyers lay serenely at anchor, dwarfed by the close proximity of an air craft carrier.

  Manley’s attention was drawn to the grating sound of a car pulling up close to the pavement. He quickly turned and saw Laura sitting behind the wheel of the MG. The four-seater was covered with a black hood with a long, shiny, green bonnet.

  ‘Sorry if I’m late, Hugh,’ she said, smiling. ‘Better not stand there too long or people will think you’re on guard duty,’ she added. Keeping the engine running, she reached across and opened the small passenger door. She was in uniform and her auburn hair was tied in a bun under a smart, tricorn cap.

  ‘Actually, you’re spot on time,’ Manley replied casually, glancing at his wristwatch before climbing in the car. ‘It’s lovely to see you again,’ he added. As he sank into the soft leather seat, he noticed her skirt had slid up, showing a good length of two well-shaped thighs encased in black stockings. She was well aware of his gaze, and still smiling, replied, ‘And you, Hugh. Now close the door and put your tin hat and gas mask on the back seat before your eyes drop out.’

  ‘Nice car, is it yours?’ Manley said noticing the oak-panelled dashboard, ‘I like the smell of your perfume.’

  ‘Chanel No 5 is courtesy of my friend, Susan,’ she replied, flashing Manley a radiant smile. After glancing casually into her rear-view mirror, she gunned the engine, and a few seconds later, drove off.

  Turning and noticing her slightly flushed, high cheek bones and aquiline nose, Manley asked, ‘As a matter of interest, where are we going?’

  ‘To a rather quaint old pub and restaurant some of the girls and myself once visited,’ Laura replied, her eyes focused intently on the road.

  ‘And whereabouts is this quaint old pub?’

  ‘Havant,’ Laura replied, ‘as I recall it’s on South Street, near the town centre.’

  A wide grin spread across Manley’s face. ‘Tell me, do you always go around hijacking men?’ he asked, sitting back in his seat.

  ‘Only the good-looking ones with dimples in their chin,’ Laura answered, coyly.

  After heading south east, they left Portsmouth and drove onto the A27. The traffic was sparse and twenty minutes later they entered Havant, a small coastal town approximately half way between Portsmouth and Chichester. After driving through a busy town centre, Laura slowed the car and looked to her left and saw a narrow, cobbled street. ‘Ah here it is,’ she cried, seeing a long, two-storey Tudor style cottage, painted white. A small, black wooden overhanging jetty, lay attached to the outside of one of the four taped windows on the upper floor. On the grounds floor there were two bay-windows, complete with colourful box flowers. A gravelled path, flanked by beds of beautiful red and yellow roses, led from the pavement to an imposing arched oak door. Above this, hanging outwards from a metal strut, a sign, painted in bright gold old English, and waving slightly in the breeze, read, “Ye Old House At Home”.

  ‘My goodness!’ Manley exclaimed. ‘Compared with those modern bungalows close by, it looks positively Shakespearean.’ He added ponderously, ‘I wonder what the beer is like.’

  ‘You’ll soon find out,’ Laura replied, driving down a gravelled lane into a spacious concrete car park behind the pub. ‘I’ve booked a table for eight thirty. The time is now eight o’clock,’ she added, glancing quickly at her wristwatch, ‘that’ll give us time for a quick drink.’

  ‘You seem to have everything well organised,’ Manley remarked, feeling slightly guilty. ‘What would you have done if I’d said I couldn’t see you?’ he added with a grin.

  ‘Shoot myself,’ she replied, gunning the engine slightly. ‘

  Laura stopped the car next to a shiny black Humber Super Snipe, applied the handbrake then switched off the engine. After giving her make-up a quick examination in the small car mirror, she picked up her shoulder bag and opened the door. Leaving his gas mask and helmet on the back seat, Manley climbed out of the car and hurried around the bonnet, then helped Laura out. In doing so, his eyes were once again drawn to her shapely legs and thighs.

  ‘Thank you, kind sir,’ said Laura, while grasping his hand, ‘I’m glad to see the age of chivalry is still alive and kicking.’

  ‘My pleasure,’ Manley answered, slightly bowing his head.

  ‘I don’t know about you, Hugh,’ she said, running a hand down the back of her skirt, ‘but my pleasure would be a large G and T.’

  As they entered the car park, Manley couldn’t help but notice a few vintage cars. Among them was a bright red Ford convertible. ‘Looks like the clientele are well healed,’ Manley remarked. ‘I only hope my bank balance can stand it.’

  As they walked up the gravelled path to the entrance, Laura took hold of Manley’s left hand. She gave it a gentle squeeze,, and glancing up at him, said, ‘I’m so glad you phoned, Hugh, I really have been looking forward to seeing you again.’

  ‘Me too,’ Manley replied, returning her smile and feeling the comforting warm of her hand in his.

  Manley pushed open the door and they were met by a tall, middle-aged woman with short, well-groomed, grey hair. Her clear-cut swarthy features, full lips and slightly turned up nose, suggested that, in her younger days, she had been quite a beauty. She wore a dark skirt and white, long-sleeved blouse, opened at the neck, around which hung a small emerald Star of David, attached to a delicate silver chain. A receptionist with an open book stood on the side of narrow, oak-panelled lobby.

  ‘Good evening to you both,’ she said, glancing approvingly at their uniforms while proffering her hand to Manley. ‘I am Mrs Jacobs, the proprietor. ‘The Royal Navy is always welcome here. Can I help you?’ Her accent sounded foreign, and as she spoke, the corners of her pale blue eyes creased into a welcoming smile.

  ‘Good evening,’ Manley replied, gently shacking her hand. ‘I believe we have a reservation for two in the name of Kent.’

  ‘That’s me,’ interrupted Laura. ‘I made the reservation.’

  Mrs Jacobs turned around and after consulting the book on the desk, said, ‘Ah, yes, Miss Kent, eight thirty. This way.’ She led them down a narrow, oak-panelled lobby into a small bar and lounge. A thickly piled, green patterned carpet covered the floor. In one corner, a log fire burned brightly in a stone fireplace and from the centre of low-slung ceiling, supported by stout oak beams, hung a glittering electric chandelier. On the walls, embossed in yellow and green, hung beautifully framed paintings of sixteenth century sea battles, along with a rusting set of crossed cutlasses. An open door next to the bar led into a restaurant. Suddenly, the mouth-water
ing smell of cooking attacked their olfactory nerves. To this was added the pungent aroma of mansion polish tobacco and alcohol, all of which gave the place a warm and relaxing atmosphere.

  A well-stocked bar rested in a corner. Nearby an Army officer and a pretty, dark-haired woman stood holding glasses. Next to them, sitting on padded stools, a young RAF flight lieutenant and a WAAF officer stood talking quietly while staring lovingly into each other’s eyes. Close by, an elderly, grey haired gentleman in a brown tweed suit and a stout woman, wearing a yellow woollen dress, occupied one of three tables. Both of them casually glanced up as Mrs Jacobs, Manley and Laura entered.

  ‘Would you care for a drink at the bar before dinner?’ asked Mr Jacobs, glancing at Manley. ‘Or would you prefer to have one brought to you in the restaurant?’

  ‘What do you think?’ Manley asked Laura, feeling her hand creep into his.

  ‘A large gin and tonic in the restaurant, please,’ Laura answered, gently tickling the palm of his hand with a finger.

  ‘As you wish,’ Mrs Jacobs reverently replied.

  The restaurant was quite small. Except for the floor which was covered in highly polished brown linoleum, the stout oak-beamed ceiling décor and lighting were similar to the lounge. There were three tables covered in red and white chequered tablecloths. One was occupied by men and women in civilian clothes, the other by an army officer and an attractive blonde. Only the army officer glanced up and smiled as Mr Jacobs showed Laura and Manley to the third table.

  ‘I must say, Mr Jacobs,’ Manley said, looking around as he held Laura’s chair allowing her to sit down, ‘I’m very impressed. How long have you owned it?’

  ‘My husband, Arron, and my daughter, Helen, left Germany in 1938 as it was not safe,’ said Mr Jacobs. ‘With the valuables we managed to smuggle out, we bought the pub.’ She paused, then frowning slightly, went on, ‘Sadly, my Arron died last year. The young lady you see standing by the kitchen door is Helen.’

  ‘So sorry about your husband,’ said Laura. ‘From what we’ve heard, you and your daughter got out of Germany in time to avoid being taken in to custody.’

  ‘Yes indeed,’ Mrs Jacobs quietly replied while lowering her gaze, ‘unfortunately our parents weren’t so fortunate. The Red Cross have told me they’re now in a concentration camp called Belsen.’

  For a few seconds the acute pain in Mrs Jacob’s eyes told its own story. Mrs Jacobs finally gave a slight cough, then regaining her pose, continued. ‘The whole place used to be two sixteenth century cottages,’ she said, ‘and was joined together after the First World War, then became a pub and restaurant in the late twenties. And incidentally, I’m told, some of those oak beams you see came from one of the ships in the Spanish Armada.’

  Laura gave a small cry, and sitting back in her chair, said, ‘There, Hugh, I told you it was quaint, didn’t I, now what about those gin and tonics?’

  ‘Of course,’ she replied, ‘my daughter will take your order while I make sure the blackout curtains are drawn. Meanwhile, may I recommend the steak and kidney pie, I made it myself.’

  ‘Sound delightful, doesn’t it, Hugh?’ Laura said, eagerly rubbing her hands together.

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ Manley replied, ‘and a nice bottle of whatever you have in stock to go with it.’

  A few minutes later Helen arrived with the drinks. ‘I hope I haven’t put too much tonic in them,’ she said. ‘My mother has given me your order,’ she added, glancing quickly at her pad, ‘it won’t be too long.’ Then, flashing Manley a lovely smile, she turned, and went into the kitchen.

  Just as Helen left, the dulcet tones of Geraldo’s Palm Court Orchestra, playing Cole Porter’s Night and Day, came from a gramophone behind the bar.

  ‘How appropriate,’ Laura said quietly, then humming the tune, she reached across the table and covered her hand over his.

  Manley raised his glass and looking into Laura’s beguiling violet eyes, said, ‘Yes. it is, and God willing, there’ll be many more evenings like this.’

  As she predicted, Mrs Jacob’s steak and kidney pie, washed down with a bottle of Médoc, was delicious.

  ‘Tell me, Laura,’ Manley said after taking a sip of coffee, ‘you mentioned someone you met before me, was he in the forces?’

  Lowering her eyes, she stared meaningfully into her coffee cup, then in a quiet, almost melancholy voice, replied, ‘Yes, the RAF, his name was Clive.’ Raising her voice slightly, she went on. ‘But, that was in the past, now let’s enjoy the rest of the evening.’

  Sensing the reluctance to pursue the subject, Manley replied, ‘Of course, forgive me, I didn’t mean to be intrusive.’ Then, in an effort to change the tone of the conversation, went on. ‘Tell me, how long have you lived in Helston?’

  ‘Except for three years at Exeter University, all my life,’ Laura replied. ‘Then, much against my father’s wishes, I joined the navy. Incidentally,’ Laura added, leaning forward and lowering her voice, ‘perhaps I shouldn’t say this, but as I told you, I work in the movements office and I’m aware that you’ll soon be sailing, and where too.’

  ‘In that case,’ Manley said, smiling while reaching across and taking hold of Laura’s hand, ‘I think I’ll send for the police and have you clapped in irons.’

  ‘A shame, really, I was hoping we could spend more time together,’ she replied, gently squeezing Manley’s hand.

  ‘We still can,’ Manley said. ‘We finish storing ship tomorrow. The captain is then taking five days leave and should return on the twenty-sixth. I’m due five days leave starting the next day, so you see, we can see each other again.’

  Laura’s face broke into a broad smile. ‘I have a better idea,’ she replied. ‘I’m due a week’s leave, so why don’t we go down to Cornwall. I’m sure you’d like Father.’

  Laura’s suggestion took Manley completely aback. He sat back in his chair, and for several seconds, stared at her. Then, taking a deep breath, said, ‘Er… yes, what a good idea. I’d love to meet him. How would we get there, by train?’

  ‘No, we could drive down,’ Laura answered noticing the surprised expression Manley eyes. ‘I have a full tank and the car has only done five hundred miles. So if I met you outside the dockyard, at 0900 on the twenty-seventh, we could reach Helston that evening. How does that sound?’

  ‘Splendid,’ Manley replied. ‘I only hope your father likes me.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Hugh,’ Laura answered confidently, ‘I’m sure he will.’

  Just as Laura finished speaking, Mrs Jacobs arrived. ‘How was your meal?’ she asked, smiling politely.

  ‘Most enjoyable, wasn’t it?’ Manley answered, glancing at Laura.

  Especially your steak and kidney pie,’ replied Laura.

  ‘Good,’ said Mrs Jacobs, ‘would you like anything else, more coffee perhaps?’

  ‘No thank you,’ Manley replied, ‘perhaps the bill…’

  Ten minutes later, after leaving a handsome tip, they thanked Mrs Jacobs and left. The time was ten thirty. Hand in hand, they walked to the car park. Darkness had fallen, and high above, clusters of dark clouds partially hid a full moon.

  ‘That wind is quite chilly,’ Laura said as she opened the car door. ‘I hope the heater is working.’

  ‘To hell with the heater,’ Manley replied, gently pulling her against him and giving her a long, passionate kiss. Finally, they broke their embrace.

  ‘I’ve been longing for you to do that all evening,’ she said, catching her breath while staring longingly into his eyes.

  ‘Me too,’ Manley replied. ‘Now let’s get inside and do it again.’

  Laura turned and demurely lowered herself into her seat. In doing so, Manley noticed her skirt had, once again, ridden tantalisingly, up her thighs. She noticed this, and feeling the sexual juices rise, smiled coyly and put the car in gear. She then watched as Manley climbed into the car. The growing sense of eroticism between them suddenly made her feel lightheaded. She switched on the engine and with her dimme
d lights making a blue blur in the darkness, drove carefully through the town.

  ‘For God’s sake, find somewhere,’ Manley said hoarsely, while resting a hand on one of her soft warm thighs.

  As if anticipating Manley’s plea, she turned into a narrow lane, stopped the car and abruptly switched off the engine. Without speaking their arms went around one another. Their kiss, warm and hard, lasted for over a minute, each of them conscious of their hearts pounding a cadence in their chests. They broke away, then kissed again. At the same time Laura parted her legs, allowing Manley’s warm hand to probe under her silk panties. As his fingers parted the wetness of her vagina, she let out a guttural cry of ecstasy as he found her magic spot. She, in turn, quickly felt his erection pushing up under his trousers. He gave a throaty gasp as her hand gave it a firm squeeze. ‘God,’ he gasped trying to draw her panties down her legs, ‘I want you so.’

  Perhaps it was the cramped conditions in the car, she wasn’t sure. But, despite the almost uncontrollable sexual arousal running through her body, she suddenly felt ill at ease. ‘I want you also, darling,’ she cried, ‘but not here. Somehow, it doesn’t feel right.’

  ‘Why?’ Manley asked, feeling trickles of warm perspiration run down the sides of his face.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said, ‘but please…’

  ‘All right,’ Manley answered, slowly withdrawing his hand from between her legs. ‘But I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight.’

  Feeling his erection subside, she replied, ‘Me neither, but there’ll be other times, especially when we go away.’

  It was a little before midnight when they arrived a few yards from the dockyard gate. Even at that late hour, a small crowd of ratings could be seen standing outside the dimly lit stalls, ordering mugs of tea and pies.