Battle Ensign

by Thomas E. Lightburn

  ‘Thank you for a lovely evening, Hugh,’ Laura said, turning in her seat and looking deeply into Manley’s eyes. ‘And I’m sorry about…’ her voice quickly trailed away.

  Manley lent forward and kissed her warmly on the lips. Then, gently touching the side of her face with his hand, said, ‘As you say, there’ll be other times.’

  ‘And they can’t come quick enough,’ Laura replied wistfully, then added, ‘I’m on duty till 2000tomorrow, so phone me any time after that. Now, you’d better go as I’m missing you already.’

  After giver Laura a quick kiss, Manley opened the door, and with a parting smile, walked down the road, flashed his pay book to the policeman and went into the dockyard.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Throughout the morning of Sunday 21st May, the crew were kept busy storing ship. In the afternoon, a lighter came alongside. Smoking throughout the ship was forbidden. Rum issue was postponed till 1400. Under the watchful eyes of Chief Coxswain Digger Barnes and CGI Bob Shilling, a hoist was rigged. Boxes of 4.7 shells and smaller ammunition was then brought onboard and lowered into the magazines. By 1600, replenishment was completed, and much to the relief of a tired crew, rum was issued. Leave was granted and those ratings living locally soon left the ship.

  During the next week Paddy visited Joyce every evening. Up till now, their relationship had been warm, friendly and platonic, although Paddy’s ardour when they kissed aroused a sexual desire in her that, with great willpower and pangs of conscience, she managed to subdue. Once or twice, Joyce allowed him to stay overnight and sleep on the settee. Paddy didn’t mind as he looked forward to a well-cooked breakfast of bacon and eggs. Sometimes they would go to the local cinema, hold hands and enjoy a bar of Cadbury’s milk chocolate, Paddy had bought from the ship’s NAFFI. Occasionally they accompanied Harry and Ethel and had a drink and sing-song at the White Hart. The evening before the ship was due to sail, they were sitting in the front room. The time was a little after nine o’clock. On a nearby table, several empty bottles of ale and a small bottle of Gordon’s gin lay alongside two glasses.

  ‘Y’know, darlin’,’ said Paddy, ‘I think I love you, and if things were different, I’d ask you to marry me.’

  ‘Oh, Paddy,’ Joyce replied, looking longingly into his eyes. ‘If it wasn’t for Jack, I’d marry you in an instant, but what can we do? You’re going soon, and…’ Her voice trailed away.

  ‘But, to be sure,’ Paddy muttered as he kissed her forehead, ‘I’ll be thinkin’ of you all the time ’til I come back, so I will.’ That night Paddy didn’t sleep on the settee.

  At 0900 on Monday 22nd May, Penrose left the ship. With the shrill sound of the bosun’s pipe ringing in his ears, he climbed into a tilly and was driven through the dockyard. A cool breeze blew downriver and a cerulean, sunny sky, dotted with barrage balloons, promised a warm day. He wore his best uniform and carried a brown canvas holdall in his left hand. A gas mask satchel, with a steel helmet attached, was slung over his left shoulder.

  A few minutes later they arrived at Portsmouth Harbour station. A tall, elderly driver with wiry grey hair climbed out and slid open a side door, allowing Penrose to climb out.

  ‘Safe journey, sir,’ said the driver, ‘and have a good leave.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Penrose replied, then returning the salute of two passing sailors, hurried up a flight of steps, flashed his travel warrant to an attendant and made his way onto the platform in time to catch the 0945 train to London. Two hours later he arrived at Waterloo and took a taxi ride, northwards, across the city to St Pancras. With fifteen minutes to spare before his train left at twelve thirty, he telephoned Jean.

  ‘Henry, darling,’ Jean cried, ‘what a wonderful surprise. It’s so lovely to hear you. Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes, dear, I’m fine,’ Penrose replied. ‘I have a few days leave, and as I recall, the journey to St Albans takes about an hour, so I should arrive, say…’ he glanced at his wristwatch, then said, ‘About two thirty.’

  ‘Splendid,’ Jean hastily replied. ‘Luckily Janet is on half term till Monday, so we’ll both meet you at the station.’

  He was sharing a first-class compartment with an elderly, stout vicar, who, after smiling benignly, proceeded to bury himself behind a copy of The Methodist Church Times. Minutes later, the train left the station, and after a brief stop at Watford, arrived at St Albans shortly after half past two. The vicar stood up, yawned and folded his newspaper. Penrose opened the compartment door, allowing the vicar, who, after a polite nod, stepped carefully onto the platform. Penrose collected his steel helmet and gas mask and left the compartment and saw his wife, Jean, and daughter, Janet, standing behind the ticket collector at the end of the platform. He grinned and immediately gave a quick wave and hurried towards them. Upon seeing him, both women broke into broad smiles and waved back. The low-heeled brogues Jean wore made her look slightly smaller than Janet, whose broad-brimmed yellow straw school cap and scarlet school jacket contrasted sharply with her mother’s fawn coat and green Robin Hood hat, only partially covering her short, fair hair.

  The ticket collector, a small, stout, middle aged man, glanced casually at Penrose’s uniform and travel warrant, then, touching the peak of his small, round cap, smiled respectfully and said, ‘Afternoon, sir, I was in your lot in the last war, so good luck to you.’

  Penrose was about to thank him when Janet, wide-eyed and grinning, threw her arms around Penrose’s waist and cried, ‘Oh Daddy, I’ve missed you so.’ Then, standing tip-toe, kissed him warmly on the cheek.

  ‘And that goes for me, dear,’ said Jean, kissing his other cheek. In doing so she noticed the dark rungs under his eyes and how tired and drawn he looked. ‘The car’s outside,’ she added, linking his arm.

  ‘Mummy tells me you’ve only got five days leave,’ gushed Janet, taking Penrose’s holdall from him. As she spoke her dark blue eyes, matching those of her mother, creased into a broad welcoming grin. ‘Is that right, Daddy?’

  ‘I’m afraid so, chicken,’ Penrose replied. ‘And I’m lucky to have that,’ he added, as they left the concourse. At the bottom of two flights of wide steps, a black Morris Eight was parked on the road next to a delivery van.

  ‘Still running well?’ Penrose asked as Jean opened the driver’s door and climbed in.

  ‘Yes, darling, but the engine needs a good overhaul,’ Jean answered as Penrose sat next to her.

  ‘Daddy will fix it, won’t you,’ cried Janet from the passenger’s seat behind them.

  Jean gave a loud laugh. ‘Your father knows as much about car engines as I do.’ Then, pulling the choke half way out, she turned on the engine.

  The city of St Albans, or Verulamium, as it was known in medieval times, lies twenty miles north-west of London. Its name is derived from Alban, Britain’s first saint who is buried in the beautiful Romanesque-Gothic Cathedral whose central tower dominates the city.

  ‘How’s work?’ Penrose asked as Jean pulled away from the curb and drove down Victoria Street, a wide, busy shopping area in the centre of the city.

  ‘Other than a few divorces and accident claims, things are quiet,’ Jean replied, as she turned the car into Bricket Road, a wide, cobbled-stoned cul-de-sac, lined on either side by bungalows built before the war. Jean drove down the road and stopped the car opposite a fairly large red-bricked bungalow. Two squat chimneys poked up from the middle of a slightly sloping blue slated roof. A wooden fence, painted bright yellow surrounded a slightly overgrown lawn through which a narrow, gravelled path led up to a small, overhanging porch and varnished oak door. On either side of the door, a taped window with its blackout curtains drawn to one side to protect against the dangers of the bombing, which, so far, had not affected the city.

  ‘Here we are, darling, home is the sailor,’ said Jean switching off the engine, and opening her door.

  ‘And the hunter home from the hill,’ added Janet, grabbing Penrose’s gas mask and helmet and climbing out of the back seat onto the n
arrow pavement. ‘I told that to Mummy, it’s by Robert Louis Stevenson. We learnt that at school.’

  ‘And if I may say so, very appropriate,’ Penrose remarked, opening the passenger door and leaving the car.

  Janet insisted on carrying Penrose’s gas mask, steel helmet and grip and followed her parents up the path.

  ‘I expect you’re dying for a cup of tea, dear,’ Jean said, using a small silver Yale key to open the door.

  ‘With a drop of Scotch, if you have any,’ Penrose replied, following Jean inside.

  ‘Indeed, I have, courtesy of my boss,’ Jean replied, ‘and by the looks of you, darling, you also need a good night’s sleep.’

  On one side of the hallway, carpeted in dark green, was an umbrella stand, coat hooks and small table. Penrose placed his holdall on top of the table and hung up his gas mask and steel helmet. He then followed Janet and his wife down the hallway, passed a small but well-furnished dining room into a tiled kitchen complete with a modern ice box and gas stove. Penrose entered a surprisingly spacious lounge, followed by Janet. Smiling broadly, she cried, ‘Oh Daddy, Mummy and me have missed you so, it’s so good to have you home, even if it’s only for a few days.’ She flopped down into a large, brown settee.

  Feeling his shoes sink into the soft pile of floral-patterned carpet, Penrose took off his cap and eased himself comfortably into one of the two armchairs. A quick glance around showed the familiar sights; the shiny sandalwood table, complete with a Waterford sherry decanter, matching glasses and telephone; the stout oak sideboard, family photographs and the same yellow and green striped wallpaper and paintings of local scenes he and Jean had hung a year ago. On a tiled hearth lay a brass coal scuttle, set of iron tongs and poker in a round metal container. Next to this, in a three barred fire grate, lumps of coal lay over pieces of firewood and crinkled newspaper, all of which were protected by a wire mesh shield. Above the white marble surround was a mantelpiece. In the middle rested an ornate, emerald green ormolu clock, flanked on either side with framed family photographs. Next to this was a tall lamp stand topped up with a tasselled lampshade, and close by, on a well-polished table, a bunch of red roses poked out of a glass vase next to a brown Bakelite wireless. With a satisfied sigh, Penrose murmured, ‘My goodness, it’s feels good to be home.’

  Jean came in carrying a silver tray containing three cups and saucers and a teapot covered by a woollen tea cosy. She had taken off her coat, revealing a dark brown pleated skirt, a fawn twin set and a delicate row of pearls around her slender neck. Janet followed on behind holding a folded copy of The Times and handed it to Penrose.

  ‘Thank you, chicken,’ said Penrose, accepting the newspaper and placing it by his side. ‘I’ll read it later.’

  ‘Milk and sugar in all the cups,’ Jean said, placing the tray on a table’

  ‘Ah, I detect that spot of whiskey,’ said Penrose, sniffing the air, ‘thank you darling.’

  The time was five o’clock. For the next hour, Penrose and Jean sat and discussed the war and friends, while Janet reluctantly retreated to her room and did her homework.

  ‘It said on the BBC this morning that the Americans have lost an aircraft carrier, called the Lexington, along with a destroyer sunk in the Coral Sea.’

  ‘Yes, dear, I heard it before I left the ship,’ Penrose answered dryly, ‘and sixty of the American planes were lost also.’

  ‘What about the Japanese losses?’ Jean asked. ‘Any news about them?’

  ‘Yes, I’m glad to say,’ Penrose answered, with a wry smile. ‘One aircraft carrier, several cruisers, a destroyer and over eighty planes.’

  ‘How splendid,’ Jean said, placing both hands on her knee, ‘I think that deserves a small sherry each, dear.’

  ‘A large one, I should say,’ Penrose replied, ‘don’t you think, darling?’

  A few minutes later, Janet came into the lounge. She had discarded her jacket, her tie was undone and hung loosely down the front of her open-necked white shirt. ‘Can anyone help me with these lousy quadratic equations?’ she asked, frowning while brandishing an exercise book in her hand. ‘They’re a mystery to me.’

  ‘Your father’s the mathematician, aren’t you, dear?’ Jean said, picking up the decanter and pouring out two glasses of sherry.

  Sensing this was an excuse by Janet to join him and Jean, Penrose gave a loud laugh and said, ‘Come over here, you duffer.’ And for the next half hour, with Janet cuddling close to him on the settee, he instructed his daughter in the intricacies of O level algebra.

  After listening to the six o’clock news, they sat down in the kitchen and enjoyed a roast beef dinner. By the time they finished it was a little after eight o’clock. Penrose had taken off his uniform and now wore a cream shirt, maroon tie, and grey slacks. Jean did likewise and was dressed in a long-sleeved dark brown button-down dress while Janet, doing her best to look older, looked smart in a pleated green skirt and yellow blouse.

  ‘I suggest we take our coffee into the lounge,’ said Jean, standing up and picking up her cup, ‘and perhaps you can light the fire, dear, while Janet draws the blackout curtains.’

  In the lounge the warmth from the fire added to the cosy, relaxed family atmosphere. Jean sat in an armchair, knitting, while on the settee, Penrose asked Janet about school, then played snakes and ladders.

  At nine o’clock everyone sat on the settee, listening to the deep-seated voice of Valentine Dyall, narrating the BBC’s horror series, The Man in Black.

  ‘Now, brush your teeth and off to bed with you, dear,’ Jean said, then with a cautious smile, added, ‘and remember, we’re going to church tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh, all right,’ Janet replied. With a sigh of mock anguish, she stood up, and after kissing both parents on their cheeks, said ‘goodnight,’ and left the room.

  After Janet had gone, Jean put down her knitting, and looking at the tired expression etched on her husband’s face, said, ‘I didn’t want to discuss this in front of Janet, dear, but you look so tired, are you sure you’re feeling well?

  ‘Of course, darling,’ Penrose replied, doing his best to sound convincing, ‘never felt better, so don’t worry.’

  ‘Well,’ she answered, leaving her chair and sitting beside him on the settee. ‘You know I do,’ she mockingly chiding him before putting her arms around him and kissing him warmly on the lips.

  St Alban’s Cathedral with its large rose window flanked on either side by tall Gothic towers, stood in the centre of the town, surrounded by lush parkland. Penrose parked the car alongside several others and joined a crowd walking up a gravelled path leading to the stout oak twelfth century arched entrance. Jean wore her pale green Robin Hood hat and a dark blue dress under a belted fawn cashmere coat, while Janet, looking every inch a teenager in a pink dress, proudly linked the arm of her father whose brass buttons on his uniform glinted in the mid-morning sunshine. Among the crowd, Penrose noticed the unmistakable, round, pale face and partially bald head of Doctor Peter Smyth, standing next to the cathedral’s open door. The dark blue suit he wore contrasted sharply with the pristine white cassock worn by Reverend Horace Willloughby, the tall, grey-haired Bishop of St Albans, with whom he was engaged in subdued conversation.

  ‘Excuse me, dear, go straight inside,’ said Penrose. ‘I’ve just seen Peter Smyth, so pardon me while I say hello to him.’

  If you must, darling,’ Jean replied, glancing around, ‘but don’t be long, there looks like being a large congregation.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Dad,’ chimed in Janet, squeezing his hand, ‘I’ll save you a place next to me.’

  ‘Thank you, chicken,’ Penrose replied. Making his way through the crowd, he arrived next to the doctor. The bishop left the doctor, and still smiling benignly, greeted an elderly couple. The doctor turned and saw Pentose standing next to him.

  ‘Henry, old boy,’ said the doctor as they shook hands. In doing so, he cast his medical eyes on Penrose’s haggard features. ‘Wonderful to see you, old boy. I thou
ght you were still at sea. How is the ticker?’ he added, lowering his voice.

  ‘That’s why I want to see you,’ Penrose replied, smiling weakly at Jean and Janet as they walked past them into the church. ‘While we were at sea, I’ve had a few bad turns and now, I’ve almost run out of tablets, and we sail again shortly.’

  ‘Hmm… I see, ‘Peter replied, furrowing his brow. ‘Then you’d better come and see me tomorrow at ten o’clock. Now I think we should go inside before the ceremony starts.’

  The church was quite crowded but Penrose spotted Jean and Janet sitting on the end of a line of padded benches.

  ‘You took a long time to say hello,’ whispered Jean, as he sat down, ‘we thought you’d deserted us, didn’t we, Janet?’

  ‘Yes, and…’ The strident voice of Bishop Willloughby asking the congregation to stand, interrupted her.

  The service lasted over an hour. After several hymns, led by the church choir, and the bishop’s long sermon, everyone stood up and sung the national anthem.

  ‘Thank heavens for that, Mummy,’ Janet murmured as they filed out the church, ‘I thought the bishop would never stop.’

  ‘Don’t be so irreverent,’ Jean replied, taking hold of Janet’s hand. ‘If Adolf gets his way, we’ll need all the prayers we know. Isn’t that right, dear?’ she said, glancing up at Penrose.

  ‘More than a few prayers, I’d say,’ Penrose answered dryly, as they reached the car.

  After lunch, Janet asked her parents if they would take her to Verulamium Park to see the remains of the city’s Roman walls. ‘I haven’t been there since I was little and can’t remember much about it. You see, we’re doing local history at school and I’d like to do a few drawings.’

  ‘What do think, dear?’ Janet asked Penrose. ‘It’s such a lovely day. We could have a picnic.’

  ‘What a good idea, darling,’ Penrose replied, picking up his cup and taking a good sip.