Battle Ensign

by Thomas E. Lightburn

  ‘Right, gentlemen,’ said Manley, ‘our doctor is with the captain in his quarters, so if you’ll come this way,’ he added, indicating a hand. ‘And mind your heads as we go through the hatchways.’

  A few minutes later, they arrived outside the captain’s cabin. Manley opened the door and led them across the main part of the cabin to the captain’s sleeping quarters. On their way they saw Morris, who was sitting in an armchair. Nearby on the floor lay and open Neil Robertson stretcher. ‘As you were,’ Manley said, motioning to Morris as he was about to stand up. Manley knocked on the door, and with the two officers closely behind him, went inside.

  Penrose lay on his bunk, wearing a pair of red silk pyjamas his wife had given to him before the ship sailed. He was awake and his breathing appeared shallow and slow. Latta had just finished taking Penrose’s blood pressure, and stood up as Manley and other two officers came in.

  ‘Looks like the doctors from BMH you mentioned,’ muttered to Penrose, turning his head and looking at the two officers standing next to Manley.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Latta replied, removing the stethoscope from around his neck. ‘This is Major Andrews and Surgeon Lieutenant Murray. They will probably want to examine you.’

  ‘Of course,’ Penrose answered quietly, ‘I understand.’

  Latta drew the two officers to one side and said, ‘I’d like a quick word, so I suggest we go into to the other room.’ He then gave Penrose a warm smile and added, ‘We’re leaving you for a minute, sir, but in the meantime, I’m sure Bamford will make you a cup of tea.’

  Penrose made no comment, instead he wearily nodded his head and closed his eyes. Latta looked at Manley and said, ‘Would you pipe for the first aid party to come to the sick bay, please, sir.’

  ‘Will do, Doc, so if you’ll excuse me,’ Manley replied, ‘I’d better return to the bridge. Keep me informed.’ Then left the cabin.

  Latta and the two officers went into the next room. As he did so, the pipe came over the tannoy ordering the first aid party to report to the sick bay. Latta closed the door and told Morris to pick up the Neil Robertson stretcher and wait outside. Morris did this and was met by PO Steward Sandy Powell and the first aid party.

  ‘What’s happening, Scouse?’ asked Sandy, who, like the three others, was staring intensely at Morris.

  In a church-like whisper, Morris told them what they were to do. ‘Youse ’ave all used the Neil Robertson stretcher, so wait here, and I’ll tell youse when to come in.’

  Meanwhile, inside the cabin, Latta looked at the major and lieutenant and said, ‘I know you’re busy so I’ll come straight to the point.’ He then quickly told them about Penrose’s constant high blood pressure and pulse, adding, ‘The morphia and digoxin I’ve given him has only had a limited effect.’ He momentarily stopped talking, then went on. ‘And his condition has deteriorated so much that, in my opinion, moving him could prove fatal. Alternatively.’ Latta paused again. ‘If I kept him on board, we could be attacked by U-boats or bombed. The quick movements of the ship and noise might also have an adverse effect on him.’

  ‘And, of course, sir,’ said the lieutenant, glancing pensively at the major, ‘they could be sunk.’

  ‘So what do you think, sir,’ Latta asked edgily, ‘should he be moved or not?’

  ‘I understand what you are saying Doctor,’ the major cautiously replied, ‘but we do have a cardiac specialist who could treat him, should his condition worsen.

  ‘Then what do you suggest, sir?’ Latta asked.

  ‘Judging by what you have told us I think he should be taken ashore right away. What do you think, Peter?’ he added, giving Surgeon Lieutenant Murray a searching look.

  ‘I agree with you, sir,’ Murray replied, ‘and the sooner the better.’

  ‘Right, then,’ Latta said, opened the door, allowing Andrews and Murray to return into the captain’s sleeping quarters. Bamford, who was helping the captain to sip a cup of tea, looked at Latta, and said, ‘Just finishing, sir.’ Then he removed the cup and dabbed Penrose’s mouth with a small piece of gauze.

  ‘How are you feeling, sir?’Latta asked. ‘How is the pain?’

  ‘About the same,’ Penrose quietly replied.

  ‘Then, if you feel up to it, sir, we’d like to get you ready to go ashore,’ Latta replied. After explaining how this was to be done, he added, ‘It might be a little uncomfortable but we’ll be as quickly as possible.’

  ‘I understand,’ Penrose murmured.

  ‘Go outside the cabin and tell Morris to bring in the Neil Robertson,’ Latta said to Bamford, ‘then we’ll get the captain ready to be taken to the quarterdeck.’ Latta removed the bridge communication handset from the side of the captain’s bunk. Seconds later Manley answered.

  ‘In a little while we’ll be bringing the captain to the quarterdeck,’ Latta said, ‘I thought you might like to tell the ship’s company. And ask the buffer to make sure there’s an army stretcher ready and open on the quarterdeck, then detail four ratings to collect the commander’s trunk to take it ashore and put it in the tilly.’

  ‘Thank you, Doc,’ Manley replied. ‘I’ll do just that.’

  A few minutes later, the metallic click of the tannoy echoed around the ship. ‘This is Lieutenant Powers speaking. In a little while Captain Penrose will be taken ashore. Side party fall in, all officers muster on the quarterdeck. Clear lower deck.’

  Morris brought the stretcher into sleeping quarters and laid it open near the captain’s bunk. Bamford lay a blanket on it, with a pillow for Penrose to rest his head. Then, he and Latta carefully helped Penrose from his bunk onto the stretcher where Bamford quickly tucked the blanket around him.

  ‘Just lie back and try to relax while you’re being strapped in, sir,’ said Latta.

  When Bamford and Latta did this, Latta nodded to Powel and said, ‘When you’re ready, PO.’

  ‘Very good, sir,’ Powel replied. SA Bensen and Leading Writer Jack Jones took tight hold of the rope rings on one side. Steward Dick Turpin and PO Powel grasped the rings on the other side.

  ‘Right, together, lift and launch,’ snapped Powel. With Bamford supporting Penrose’s head, the captain was then taken from the cabin and along the passageway to the open hatchway, leading onto the quarterdeck. Most of the ship’s company occupied every space on X deck overlooking the quarterdeck. The rest were packed below on the lower port side of the ship. Officers and senior ratings were lined up facing the gangway. The side party, consisting of PO Len Mills, QM Leading Seaman Knocker White and three ratings, stood by the side of the brow. All eyes were focussed on the hatchway as everyone waited to see the captain. The first aid party emerged carrying Penrose in the NRS. Behind came Latta, Major Andrews and Surgeon Lieutenant Murray.

  ‘Ship’s company, attention!’ cried Lieutenant Powel

  High above, in a cloudless sky, the moon’s rays bathed everything in a sheet of silver. The only sounds were the childlike crying of seagulls and the fresh south westerly wind, flapping the white ensign on the end of the stern. With palpable reverence, everyone watched the first aid party lower the NRS onto the deck next to the army stretcher on which was laid a blanket. Using the side hand grips the FA party gently lifted Penrose onto the stretcher.

  Latta knelt down close to Penrose. ‘How are you feeling, sir?’

  ‘Not too bad,’ Penrose quietly replied.

  ‘That’s the spirit, sir,’ Latta said, gently touching Penrose’s shoulder. ‘I’ll see you back in England.’ Then, nodding at Powel, he stood up.

  ‘Right, together lads, two-six, lift,’ shouted Sandy Powel.

  As they lifted up the stretcher, Manley cried, ‘Ship’s company, stand at ease. Three cheers for Captain Penrose.’ He took off his cap and paused as every member of the crew, including the officers, removed their caps and joined in with a hearty, ‘Hip, Hip, Hurray.’ The stretcher party stopped as Penrose raised a salutary hand. Suddenly, a rating in those crowding on top of the after deck, boomed out ‘For
he’s a jolly good fellow, for he’s a jolly good fellow.’ Everyone took up the song and continued singing as Sandy Powel and his fellow first aiders, carried the stretcher down the gangway. Latta, the major and surgeon lieutenant followed behind them. The driver opened the rear doors of the ambulance, and as they slid the stretcher inside, the singing gradually faded away.

  The orderly climbed inside the ambulance, allowing the driver to close the doors. Latta handed a large envelope containing Penrose’s medical history to the major. They shook hands and both officers climbed into the ambulance. From the top of the gangway, Manley saw Latta walking up the gangway. Behind him came the first party carrying the army and NR Robertson stretchers. Everyone watched in silence as the ambulance drove along the wharf and left the dockyard through the main gate. ‘Not wishing to sound too disingenuous,’ Latta said to Bamford as they reached the top of the top of the gangway, ‘I do hope the captain makes a full recover, but thank goodness that’s over.’

  Manley walked to the side of the citadel and unhooked the tannoy. ‘All hands turn to. Close all screen doors and scuttles. Special sea duty men fall in.’

  Fifteen minutes later, the gangway had been removed and the guardrails were replaced. Using a loud hailer, Manley lent over the port wing of the bridge and shouted to Sub Lieutenant Jewitt on the quarterdeck, ‘Let go, for’d.’

  With expert ease, two burly seamen unravelled the heavy hemp ropes, allowing them to be dragged ashore by a couple of swarthy dockyard workers. Manley gave similar orders to Sub Lieutenant Milton on the fo’c’sle. Minutes later, the ship moved away from the wharf and rocked gently.

  ‘Slow ahead,’ snapped Manley who was now sitting on the chair.

  ‘Engines, slow ahead, sir,’ Digger Barnes replied from the wheelhouse.

  ‘Starboard five, revolutions, five.’

  No sooner had Barnes repeated the orders than Helix headed towards Eridge and Dulverton, lying at anchor, some five miles away.

  ‘Next stop, dear old Pompey, eh, sir,’ QM Knocker White said to Sub Lieutenant Baker, who was bent near the compass repeater taking a bearing on the other two warships.

  Like the rest of the ship’s company, he had been bitterly disappointed at not receiving mail. However, the thought of a policeman standing on the wharf when they arrived in Portsmouth sent a shiver running down his spine. ‘Yes, White,’ Baker replied half-heartedly, ‘dear old Pompey.’

  No such thoughts had entered Manley’s mind. Since taking over the responsibility of running the ship, he had had no time worrying why he hadn’t heard from Laura. And when he did manage to go to bed, he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  PART FOUR.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  At 0200 on Thursday 30th July, the small flotilla passed through the Straits of Gibraltar. An umbrella of low-lying cirrostratus clouds hid an anaemic moon and a harsh, bluster of icy cold wind blew inform the Atlantic. Lieutenant Commander Petch, in Eridge, who was now Captain “D”, ordered a ten degree turn to port. In doing so, the ships headed away from the violent waters of the Bay of Biscay into the Atlantic. Suddenly each vessel felt the intermittent hammering as the fierce ocean swell bounced against their bulkheads.

  Manley stood on the bridge. Under his duffel coat he wore a warm, woollen sweater and uniform. One gloved hand gripped the arm of his chair while the other one used a handkerchief to wipe spots of icy spray from his face.

  ‘A bit of a shock after the lovely warm Meddy, eh, sir,’ OOW Lieutenant Goldsmith shouted as he held onto the binnacle. Unlike Manley, Goldsmith, PO Hardman and QM Buster Brown all wore heavy black oilskins over white service sweaters.

  ‘At least it keeps the U-boats away,’ Manley replied, watching as another white bow wave burst over the fo’c’sle before fizzing along the deck into the scuppers and disappearing over the side.

  Throughout the night, the bitterly cold northerly wind whipped angry waves over the ship’s side. With their oil skins shining like coal, some of the duty watch staggered along the port side of the upper deck, grasping the guard rail while securing a rope around the canvas of a life boat that the wind had torn loose. From the yardarms, the rigging rattled like the bones of skeletons as the ship bounded through the sea.

  At 0800, the pipe, “Hands keep clear of the upper deck”, echoed around the ship. The harsh wind produced ten-foot waves and ugly black clouds raced across the sky obliterating the remnants of the deathly pale sun. On the bridge, Manley sat, grasping the sides of his chair, as the ship shuddered violently before plunging into a trough before rising like an angry grey dragon. Glancing across at Eridge and Dulverton, he watched in awe as their behaviour mirrored those of his ship.

  ‘Eridge flashing, sir,’ yelled Leading signalman Weir, wiping water from his eyes. ‘Message reads, “Reduce speed to twenty knots”.’

  ‘Acknowledge,’ Manley shouted, then passed the order to the wheelhouse.

  ‘Why are we doing that, sir?’ enquired QM Knocker White, holding tightly onto the binnacle.

  ‘In theory, it should help to reduce the strength of the waves hitting us,’ shouted Manley.

  ‘It might if we were a three-mast schooner, sir,’ OOW Baker cried sarcastically.

  ‘I’m inclined to agree, Pilot,’ Manley replied, ‘but anything’s worth a try.’ However, Lieutenant Commander Peche’s order proved futile.

  Throughout the day and night, men not on duty decided the safest place to be was cocooned in their hammocks. With the punka louvres in the fan trunking, the only source of ventilation available, the messes soon became cramped and sweaty. Hammocks swayed in unison. Every lurch and roll of the ship, sent anything not stowed away rolling back and forth on the deck, bouncing noisily against anything in their wake. At 0600, the shrill sound of the bosun’s call forced bleary-eyed men to leave the warmth of their hammocks and face the dangers of another day.

  Shortly after 0700, defying the laws of gravity, the cooks of the messes came down the stairs, balancing aluminium trays containing breakfast, and placed them, safe and sound on mess tables.

  ‘Och, what is it the Yanks say, Dutch?’ Jock Forbes said to Able Seaman Holland. ‘Another day, another dollar.’ Like Holland, Jock and a few other weary-looking ratings, were doing their best to prevent their plates of “train smash”, (tinned tomatoes and fried eggs) from sliding off the table.

  ‘Only they have hot coffee and thick steaks for breakfast, laddie,’ Dutch replied, dobbing a piece of bread into his egg immediately burst open.

  ‘And that’s no yoke,’ chimed in Dusty Miller, watching the remains of the egg run down Dutch’s leg.

  ‘Up yer pipe,’ grunted Forbes, who wiped his plate then placed it into an aluminium basin lying nearby on the deck. As he stood up, the pipe, “Wet weather routine. Duty watch fall wearing life jackets, fall in on the canteen flat. Hands not on duty, keep clear of the upper deck”, sounded.’

  For the next five hours, the three ships continued to plough through the high, rolling sea. Then, the inky black cirrostratus clouds opened up. Sheets of rain reduced visibility to a hundred yards. The canvas covers on the open bridge gave scant protection against the icy wind and freezing spray. As far as the eye could see, minor explosions of rain covered the sea like a watery disease.

  At 1300, a signal from Lieutenant Commander Petch ordered the flotilla to turn ten degrees to port.

  ‘A good idea, eh, Number One?’ Manley remarked to Powers, after he had given the order to PO Hardman in the wheelhouse. ‘Even though it’ll take us further into the Atlantic, at least we will avoid the German batteries along the French coast.

  ‘And here’s hoping this weather should keep the Luftwaffe away,’ Powers replied, shivering slightly as a trickle of rain pierced his woollen scarf and ran down his neck.

  But he spoke too soon. By noon next day, the rain had stopped and the pale sun began to periodically peak through the grey clouds. On the bridge, Sub Lieutenant Baker was in the process of relieving Sub Lieutenant Milton, when R
adar Operator Able Seaman Slinger Wood reported, ‘Two unidentified aircraft five miles on the port bow, sir.’

  Straight away, Manley, using his binoculars, searched the sky away to his left. The others on the bridge did likewise.

  ‘They’re Stukas, sir,’ said Baker,

  ‘Signal from Eridge, sir,’ yelled PO Tate. “All ships take evasive action. Fire at will”.’

  Manley cleared his throat and unhooked the tannoy. ‘This is the captain speaking, we will shortly be under air attack. Hands to action stations,’ he added, raising his voice. ‘Enemy aircraft spotted, so be ready for sharp movements of the ship.’ Turning to Powers, he went on, ‘Tell the A and B guns’s crews to man the Bofors, Number One, as our four point fives can’t track the bombers fast enough.’

  Over the past six months, the ship’s company had wielded Helix into an efficient fighting machine. In a little under five minutes, each member of the ship’s company, wearing anti-flash gear and steel helmets were closed up and ready for action.

  In the crow’s nest, Buster Brown looked up, and straining his eyes, cried excitedly, ‘The bastards are breaking formation.’

  ‘And they’re beginning to dive, sir,’ Baker added, watching anxiously as the distinctive gull-winged bombers angled down towards them.

  ‘Hard a port, steady as you go,’ Manley shouted down the wheelhouse voice pipe.

  Seconds later, a gigantic bow wave burst over the fo’c’sle as the ship heeled precariously to the right. Everyone on the bridge grabbed hold of anything at hand as the horizon and sea tilted before slowly becoming upright. That was when everyone heard the Stuka’s spine-chilling, “Jericho wail.”

  ‘I remember that fuckin’ noise from Dunkirk,’ yelled Tansey Lee, pressing his right eye against the Bofor’s gunsight, ‘and it scared the shit out of me.’

  ‘I wondered what that smell was,’ shouted Knocker White, waiting to feed a band of 40mm ammunition into the gun.

  Lee was about to reply when Manley’s voice came over the tannoy, shouting, ‘Fire at will.’