Battle Ensign

by Thomas E. Lightburn

  They left the bungalow at two o’clock. The sun was shining and the sky an eye-smarting cerulean blue. Jean wore a pair of dark slacks, a white blouse and sandals. Janet had discarded her school uniform and wore a pale blue dress, while Penrose was dressed country fashion in brown corduroy trousers and an open neck white shirt and a pair of thick-soled shoes.

  After a short journey through the town, Jean drove the car into a gravelled car park and stopped next to a Ford. They climbed out the car and made their way to a high, red-bricked wall surrounding the park entrance. ‘It’s a pity that lovely wrought iron gate and the railings were taken away last year, it makes the park look so open and bare, doesn’t it, dear?’ Jean asked Penrose.

  ‘Desperate times require desperate measures,’ Penrose replied. ‘As Mr Howe told the nation on the wireless, every bit of iron and steel is urgently needed to make weapons and ships.’

  After exploring the Roman walls, during which time Janet made several sketches for use at school, they settled down on a grassy verge. During the next hour they relaxed in the sunshine and enjoyed the apple pie and tarts. A few minutes later, Janet lay back on the grass next to her parents and fell asleep. With her head resting on Penrose’s chest, Jean closed her eyes and murmured, ‘My goodness, dear, you’d hardly believe there’s war on, it’s so peaceful.’

  ‘Yes, darling, peace, perfect peace, but what will tomorrow bring,’ Penrose solemnly replied.

  That night in bed Penrose held Jean close, and feeling himself becoming aroused, murmured, ‘Darling, what was that you said earlier about me being too tired?’

  Shortly after eight thirty the next morning, after a few hugs and kisses, Jean drove Janet to school then carried on to the office of Barnet and Cross on the high street. Before leaving Jean said, ‘I’ll be back at one thirty, darling, so put the kettle on.’

  ‘And please, Daddy, will you help me with my algebra again tonight?’ Janet added, before climbing into the car.

  ‘Of course, chicken,’ Penrose replied, giving the tip of her nose a gentle tap, ‘and I’ll even let you beat me at snakes and ladders, now off you go.’

  After a quick wave, Penrose watched the car disappear down the road then, with a nostalgic sigh, went inside the bungalow, sat down in the kitchen and made a cup of tea. An hour later, wearing an old brown Harris Tweed jacket, white shirt, service tie and fawn trousers, Penrose left the house. The blue sky, littered with a few fluffy clouds, promised another fine June day. A few minutes after ten o’clock, after a short walk through the city centre he was sat with Doctor Smyth in his surgery, one of several red-bricked houses situated on Beachwood Drive, a wide thoroughfare, lined with laburnum and ash.

  Ten minutes later, after examining Penrose, the doctor, wearing his usual dark blue suit, sat down, and after placing arms over his ample girth, said, ‘You’re blood pressure is sky-high and your pulse is still jumping around like a rubber ball.’ As he spoke a worried frown appeared on his pale features. ‘You really should see your naval doctor. If it were up to me, old boy,’ he added, his intelligent brown eyes fixed intently on Penrose, ‘I’d have you in hospital for a thorough going over.’

  ‘With great respect, Peter,’ Penrose replied after rolling down his sleeve and putting on his jacket, ‘it’s not up to you, and as I expect we’ll be at sea for some time, I really would be grateful for those pills. And by the way, Jean doesn’t know about this, so keep it to ourselves.’

  ‘Hippocratic oath, and all that, Henry,’ the doctor answered with a wry smile.

  Ten minutes later, with a box containing an ample supply of Digoxin in his jacket pocket, Penrose left the surgery and walked home.

  That evening the atmosphere over dinner was strained. Even though Jean and Janet had experienced the comings and goings of Penrose over the years, this was wartime, and the realisation that he would be leaving the next morning to face unknown dangers hung in the air like a heavy shroud. It was a situation, families of servicemen throughout the country, had to often contend with. But with each goodbye, the pain and worry increased.

  Jean allowed Janet to stay up late and play snakes and ladders with her father, while she did her best to concentrate on knitting. After listening to the ten o’clock news, Jean put down her knitting, switched off the wireless, then with an air of stoicism, looked around and said, ‘Time for bed everyone, and Janet, don’t forget to brush your teeth.’

  Ten minutes later, Penrose quietly opened Janet’s door. Her bedside light was on and she was lying on one side, facing him with her eyes open.

  Upon seeing him she turned and sat up. ‘Oh, Daddy,’ she cried, reaching out for him, ‘I’m going to miss you so.’

  Penrose sat down on the side of the bed and placed his arms arounds her warm pyjama-clad body, kissed her on the cheek, and in a tender voice, said, ‘And I you, chicken. I know things are difficult.’ Using a finger to wipe away a tear from the corner of an eye. ‘But we’ve all got to be brave, so promise me you’ll work hard at school and look after your mother till I return. Understand?’

  ‘I’ll do my best, Daddy,’ Janet whispered, while nodding head.

  ‘Good girl,’ Penrose replied, smiling, ‘now lie down and try to sleep.’

  Janet lay down and Penrose gently tucked her in. He then bent and kissed her tenderly on the forehead, and in a quiet, fatherly voice, said, ‘Good night and God bless, and always remember, I love you very much.’

  He stood up and for a few seconds he looked nostalgically at the huddled figure he had, between commissions, witnessed growing up into a lovely young girl. He then switched off the light and left. No sooner had he done so than Janet buried her head in a pillow and cried herself to sleep.

  Five minutes later, Penrose and Jean lay cuddled up to one another in bed. The curtains were drawn and the rays from the full moon flickering between dark clouds, occasionally lit up the room. ‘I know I shouldn’t ask, darling,’ she said, her voice quietly strained, ‘but where will it be this time, the Med, the Atlantic or Russia?’

  ‘I can’t say, dear,’ he whispered into her warm ear, ‘but I expect to have a good tan when I return.’

  Next morning, at eight thirty, breakfast was eaten in uneasy silence. Aware that the journey to Portsmouth would take about six hours, Jean made Penrose some egg and watercress sandwiches, wrapped them up in paper then filled a flask with tea and took them to Penrose in his room.

  After packing his grip, Penrose, wearing his uniform, managed to get through to Helix and speak to Manley. ‘If the train’s on time, I should arrive at Portsmouth about1630,’ he said, glancing quickly at his wristwatch. ‘Please arrange transport to meet me at the harbour station. How is everything on board?’

  ‘Other than two defaulters for fighting ashore, and a stoker sick onshore, everything’s fine. Hope you’ve had a good break, sir.’

  ‘Thank you, Number One, I have,’ said Penrose, and put the telephone down.

  That evening, Manley telephoned Laura. ‘The captain is arriving later today. I’m officer of the watch till after colours tomorrow, so what time and where shall we meet?’

  ‘How does 0930sound? I’ll park the car a few yards up Queens Street, outside the dockyard gate. How does that sound?’

  ‘Splendid,’ Manley answered, feeling a sharp, thrill of excitement run through him. He went on, ‘Shall I bring my mess undress with me?’

  ‘Oh, my goodness, no,’ she laughingly cried, ‘we dress quite informally in the country. Just pack something you’re comfortable in.’ She paused momentarily then added, ‘And Hugh, I can’t wait to see you.’

  Penrose’s train to London was due to leave St Albans at ten thirty. At nine thirty, with Janet, clutching her school satchel, sat huddled next to Penrose in the back seat, Jean drove the car away. Even though it would make Janet late for school, Jean had decided Janet should come with her to the station. A few minutes later, they arrived outside the station. Along with a few passengers, they made their way onto the platform. Janet, u
nable to fight back the tears, kept her arms tight around Penrose’s waist.

  ‘Better go, my love,’ said Jean glancing at her wristwatch, ‘your train leaves in five minutes.’ Fighting back the tears, she removed an arm and took out a small brown paper parcel from her handbag. ‘It’s a silk scarf. It’ll keep you warm at sea.’ She then reached up and kissed him warmly on the lips. Feeling an egg-sized lump in his throat, he gently removed Janet’s arms, and after kissing her on the cheek, said hoarsely, ‘Bye-bye chicken, with a bit of luck I’ll be a four-ring captain when I return.’

  ‘Never mind that, darling,’ Jean replied, fighting back tears, ‘just come back to us safe and sound.’

  Minutes later he was sat in an empty first-class compartment returning their tearful waves, as the train, billowing steam, gradually pulled away from the platform. By the time he arrived at Portsmouth, the early morning blue sky had disappeared and dark clouds promised rain. Along with several sailors who had joined the train at London, he left the station. The tilly he had ordered earlier was parked at the bottom of the station steps. The same civilian driver who had collected him from the ship five days ago, slid open the passenger door, and with a toothy smile, asked, ‘Good leave, sir?’

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ Penrose replied. Minutes later he walked up Helix’s gangway onto the quarterdeck and returned the smart salutes from Manley, OOD Sub Lieutenant Baker and PO Len Mills.

  ‘Enjoyed your break, sir?’ Manley asked, noticing the dark smudges under his captain’s eyes had disappeared.

  ‘Yes, thank you, Number One,’ Penrose replied while glancing wistfully around, and remembering Janet’s words, muttered, ‘Home is the sailor, indeed.’

  CHAPTER TEN

  At nine thirty on Thursday evening Manley, PO Hardman and QM Knocker White had just finished night rounds and were standing outside the stairway leading to the officer’s quarters.

  ‘Thank you, PO,’ Manley said, ‘I’ll be in my cabin if you want me.’

  ‘Very good, sir,’ Hardman replied, then with a smile added, ‘I hear you’re away on leave tomorrow, sir.’

  ‘Yes, five glorious days,’ Manley answered with smile.

  ‘Well, enjoy it, sir,’ Hardman replied, ‘as I expect we’ll be away for some time.’

  ‘You could be right,’ Manley said, smiling pensively. Even though the date for sailing was supposed to be top secret, on board small ships like Helix, the tom-toms ensured such information soon became known to the ship’s company.

  Manley went to his cabin, and as he packed his holdall, the thought of having Laura to himself for the next five days sent a surge of excitement running through him.

  At that moment, Laura was in her quarters, sitting on the side of her narrow bed in her cabin. A towel was wrapped tightly around her body, and she was busy using another one to dry her hair. Susan, he closest friend, occupied a chair opposite a small dressing table, cluttered with a few toilet accessories.

  ‘I hope you know what you’re doing, Laura,’ said Susan, toying with a nail brush. ‘I should hate you to get hurt, I mean, you’ve only known him for a short time and after… Her voice trailed away.’ Susan was a tall, striking blonde with baby blue eyes and a figure that attracted attention of every officer, including FP, in the wardroom.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Laura replied, turning to her slightly and smiling, ‘I know what I’m doing, now, please pass me that hair brush in front of you.’

  ‘But surely you’re not in love with him?’ asked Susan, noticing a faraway expression in in her friend’s eyes.

  ‘I know it sounds crazy,’ said Laura, turning and looking at her friend, ‘but I do believe I am.’

  Half an hour after “colours” the next morning, Manley, wearing his best uniform, handed over his duties to Sub Lieutenant Milton and left the ship carrying his gas mask and steel helmet over his left shoulder. With his Burberry slung over the crook of his left arm that held his holdall, he made his way through the dockyard. The sky was an anaemic blue, forcing Manley to lower his eyes from the glare of the early morning sun that promised another warm day.

  After showing his pay book to the policeman at the main gate, he saw Laura’s dark green MG parked a few yards away on Queen Street. The canvas hood was down, and as she saw him, her face, half hidden by a shiny scarlet headscarf, lit up into a broad, welcoming smile. ‘Right on time,’ Laura said, as he threw his holdall and accoutrements on the back seat.

  ‘Punctuality is the sign of princes and kings,’ he replied as, without opening the small door, he climbed into the car.

  ‘Then give your princess a kiss and let’s get cracking,’ she laughingly replied while reaching across to him.

  Traffic was sparse, the sun was shining, and the atmosphere happy and relaxed. Twenty minutes later they had left Portsmouth behind. Laura unbuttoned her jacket, and loosened her tie. Then, with a quick twist of her hand, she removed her headscarf, allowing the warm, southerly wind to play havoc with her auburn hair. Manley, also bareheaded, followed suit, feeling a sense of exhilaration run through him as the car sped through Hampshire’s verdant countryside. With Portsdown Hill away on the right, where, four years later on 5th June 1944 in Southwick House, General Eisenhower would order the D-Day landings to take place. They bypassed Fareham and headed west, passing through Lymington and continued along a wide, dusty coastal road, studded with concrete pill-boxes and fields of barbed wire.

  ‘My goodness,’ Laura cried, glancing left, ‘see how the sunshine on the water makes the channel looks all silvery and serine, isn’t it lovely?’

  ‘It certainly is,’ Manley thoughtfully replied, ‘but I’m afraid looks can be deceiving.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Laura asked, using a finger to brush away a strand of hair from her face.

  ‘Just over the horizon is a string of coastal gun batteries and U-boat pens, stretching from Calais to St Nazaire.’ As if to emphasize his remark, a small convoy of tankers, escorted by destroyers, gradually appeared out of the heat haze heading south. Suddenly, the sound of gunfire broke the stillness of the morning. Plumes of white water exploded around the vessels, shrouding some in clouds of spray. Then, one by one, the merchantmen broke the line and took evasive action.

  ‘Why don’t the destroyers return fire, Hugh?’ Laura shouted.

  ‘The batteries are out of there range,’ Manley replied dryly.

  The convoy, seemingly undaunted by the enemy’s barrage, continued on their way. Manley watched, sensing the fear the ship’s companies were experiencing. Then, as if the barrage had been a warning to the vessels not to come too close, the gunfire stopped. Fortunately, none of the vessels were hit. Next time, Manley thought, they might not be so lucky.

  ‘So much for serenity,’ Manley quietly muttered.

  With the lush, green Dorset Downs sweeping away on there right, they drove through Bournemouth. The time was just after one o’clock when they arrived at the historic market town of Dorchester. They adjusted their uniform, and while enjoying a late lunch a small café, Laura looked out of the window at the cobbled stoned street, and said, ‘Did you know that Thomas Hardy used Dorchester as a setting for the Mayor of Casterbridge? We read it at school. And Lawrence of Arabia is buried not far away at Moreton.’

  ‘No, I didn’t,’ Manley replied while chewing a chicken sandwich, ‘any other pearls of information?’

  ‘Yes, darling,’ she laughingly replied, ‘it’s your turn to drive.’

  Bathed in glorious sunshine, and with the warm breeze fanning their faces, they drove through Dorchester. Then, still keeping to the coast road, they skirted around the dark blue waters of Lyme Bay and entered Devon. On Laura’s advice, Hugh left the coastal road and drove inland. They bypassed Exeter and carried on through Ashburton and by five o’clock, arrived in Plymouth and stopped outside a café for a quick tea break.

  ‘I think I’d better drive, now,’ Laura said, wiping a blob of cream cake from her upper lip. ‘Father told me the city centre is still
in ruins after the bombing, so I’ll have to drive around it and go through Milehouse and take the ferry across the Tamar to Cornwall.’

  Numerous bombed buildings, evidence of the Blitz, could be seen as Laura drove through Devonport to the ferry. After paying a sixpenny toll, she, and a few cars and a delivery van, drove up a wide ramp and parked close to the other cars in an area below decks, ready to leave. Shortly after, the rumble of the chains operating the ferryboat vibrated, as the vessel slowly edged its way from the sloping landing stage.

  ‘It only takes about ten minutes, so we’d better stay in the car,’ said Laura, turning around and smiling at him. ‘However, that gives me plenty of time to give you a kiss,’ she added, pulling him close and kissing him passionately on the lips. The warmth of her body and lips sent a tingle of excitement running through Manley. Laura became aware of the bulge in his trousers pressing against her thigh and broke away from him.

  ‘The sooner we get to Helston, the better,’ gasped Laura, giving his erection a teasing pat.

  ‘But your father, won’t he…’ he muttered.

  ‘Love laughs at locksmiths,’ Laura replied, giving him a quick kiss.

  ‘Where did you learn that?’ Manley asked, staring into Laura’s beguiling violet eyes.

  ‘At school. Venus and Adonis, a poem by Shakespeare,’ she replied as the ferry began to slow down.

  ‘That sounds like some school,’ Manley replied, grinning while shaking his head slightly.

  Five minutes later, the ferry had crossed the River Tamar and arrived at Saltash, a small hillside town opposite Plymouth. The door of the carpark opened then a ramp was lowered, allowing the cars to leave.

  ‘Ah, dear old Cornwall,’ Laura said, taking a deep breath, as she followed the delivery van onto a wide concrete slipway.

  ‘Where to now?’ asked Manley, looking at the rows of quaint grey stone cottages on either side of a narrow, winding road leading into town.

  ‘Liskeard then Lostwithiel,’ Laura replied, turning left down a wide, gravelled road.