Now, God be Thanked

by John Masters

  ‘I think you’re very attractive, Rosie,’ Guy said, smiling down at her, ‘but I think I’ll have to stay with my uncle, to protect him.’

  ‘There, you old pouf! ’Ear what the young gentleman said? Come along, girls, let’s find some men!’ She stuck out her tongue at Tom, blew a kiss to Guy and then the three of them swung away and walked back east along the Strand, their bottoms wiggling.

  Tom said, ‘Shop girls, factory girls on the spree … They have no morals at all, no shame …’ They walked on westward, passing Charing Cross station. Propped against Queen Eleanor’s Cross in the forecourt, a newspaper poster read, SINN FEIN BOMB IN WEST END; and another – CARSON’S VOLUNTEERS SWEAR TO FIGHT.

  Tom said, ‘Look at those! I sometimes wonder what we’re coming to.’

  Guy said, ‘Grandma thinks Carson ought to be shot. So does Aunt Margaret.’

  Tom thought, this is deep water, and Dick Yeoman’s here; but it was a subject that would take the boys’ minds off those girls, and his own inglorious role in that encounter. He said, ‘Well, you know that your grandmother is descended from kings of Ireland – that’s my mother, Dick, she was born Rose McCormack but when she married my father she gave up her religion – she was raised a Roman Catholic, of course – and really gave up being Irish, as much as she could, for love of my father. She raised all of us to know a lot more about Ireland than most English children ever do, but we really stayed as English as our father – except my sister Margaret, who married Christopher Cate later. For some reason Ireland “took” with Margaret, like an inoculation. She didn’t go back to being a Catholic, but in everything else, she’s Irish, Southern Irish. She thinks Carson’s a traitor to Ireland for trying to prevent the country from becoming wholly independent of England. Carson’s Irish, of course, but Northern Irish – an Ulsterman, and a Protestant – but the way he defies Parliament one might just as easily call him a traitor to England. He’s quite sure that he’s doing what he’s doing for the good of England as well as of Ulster, and that makes it difficult. It’s hard to act strongly against someone who so passionately wants to be on your side, to remain English.’

  Dick Yeoman had been listening, nodding his head from time to time. He said, ‘I agree, sir. I’m glad I’m not in the army. I wouldn’t know what was the right thing to do.’

  Guy said, ‘My father took part in the mutiny at the Curragh – you know, when a lot of officers said they’d refuse to march against the Ulstermen. Granny and Aunt Margaret were furious at him, but I suppose he had thought out what was right and what was wrong, for him.’

  Tom said, ‘Your father’s very level-headed, Guy … I only hope they don’t use the navy against the Ulstermen. I don’t think we’d have another mutiny – if that’s the right word for what happened at the Curragh – but it would not be good for the Service. We’ve got nearly as many Irish ratings, from north and south, as the army has soldiers.’

  They were crossing Trafalgar Square now, the fountains playing and hundreds of people sitting on the edges of the basins, or smoking on the plinths of Landseer’s lions, lights glowing along the dark front of the National Gallery and under the pillared portico of St Martin’s-in-the-Fields. A moment later they passed up Cockspur Street and walked faster, through thinning crowds, towards Tom’s flat in Half Moon Street.

  ‘What are the chances of war, Uncle?’

  Guy asked the question directly, the blue eye and the brown eye level, one cold and piercing, one warm and affectionate. He sat with a glass of fresh-pressed lemonade in his hand, Dick Yeoman in another chair beyond the fireplace, Tom standing in the centre, his back to the empty grate.

  Tom said, ‘It’s more likely than it was a week ago, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Will we be in it?’

  ‘I don’t know. Today the Serbians accepted the Austrian ultimatum, but with some reservations. Whether Austria will take that as good enough, nobody knows. If they don’t, and attack Serbia …’ he shrugged, ‘… most of continental Europe will be dragged in.’

  ‘But we aren’t allied to anyone formally, are we?’

  ‘There’s the Triple Entente between us, Russia, and France, but it wouldn’t compel us to enter any war between France and Germany, as far as I know. I’m just a simple sailor. I fight whomever their Lordships of the Admiralty tell me to fight. If this crisis had blown up a week earlier we would have had all our three home fleets in being. This year’s naval exercise was a practice mobilization of the fleets, including the call-up of the reservists, instead of the usual manoeuvres at sea. But the fleets dispersed the day before yesterday. We couldn’t afford to keep them waiting any longer, even though the situation looks anything but settled.’

  ‘If war is declared,’ Guy said, ‘the Navy’s mobilization will probably be easier, though, won’t it? Because they’ve just done it … I think Germany does mean to fight, sooner or later. Why else should she have widened the Kiel Canal, so she can move her biggest battleships through?’

  ‘Ah, you read about that, did you? It’s suspicious, I agree, but they could be preparing for anything … we might attack them, for instance Or that’s what they’ll say.’

  ‘The Riddle of the Sands coming true,’ Dick Yeoman said in a dreamy voice, a glass of sweet sherry in hand. ‘I wish I could have been at Carruthers … sailing a converted lifeboat among the shoals, finding out the German invasion plan. That’s my favourite book. Have you read it, sir?’

  ‘Of course I have,’ Tom said, smiling down at the boy. He was really pretty rather than handsome in the face, only the strength of his neck and jaw saving him from femininity. ‘Sailing is my favourite sport, when I get a chance. But I don’t have a boat at the moment. I’ve just done three years on the China Station, and I sold my old boat before I went out.’

  Guy said, ‘I’ll have to be getting back to the Hovings now, Uncle. Mrs Hoving wanted me in by midnight.’

  ‘When are you going home?’

  ‘Tuesday. Virginia gets back from Cheltenham that day, and I’ll go down, too.’

  ‘I may not see you again, then. After I’ve put Dick on the train tomorrow, I’m going down to Wiltshire for the last week of my leave … unless my friend Charlie Arbuthnot at the Admiralty calls up with an emergency posting for me.’

  ‘The Hovings are taking me to watch aeroplanes at Farnborough. I hope to meet some of the pilots who’ll be coming down to Hedlington for our airshow on August 5th.’

  Tom showed his nephew to the door, where Guy paused, hand on the doorknob – ‘See you at school on September 21st, Dick. Have a good summer. Thanks for everything, Uncle.’

  Tom said, ‘Mind you don’t fall in with any more factory girls, young man. Though you seem able to defend yourself more than adequately.’

  ‘If I want to,’ Guy said, with an oblique grin, and was gone.

  Tom returned to the fireplace. ‘Sit down, Dick, the night is yet young, and you’re going home tomorrow. What time’s your train?’

  ‘The eleven o’clock from Waterloo, sir. It’s not too full on Sundays – most people are already at the seaside by then, or have started to come back.’

  Tom said, ‘Yes, Lyme’s a bit far for the day-tripper crowd.’ He poured himself a whisky, weak with plenty of soda, and eyed the young man lolling in the easy chair. He moved gracefully, whatever he did – more gracefully than Guy even, though you could tell that Guy was an athlete. There was always a hint of danger in Guy’s movements, a message that limbs and brain were equally capable of sudden actions, violent changes, unexpected decisions … not with Dick. The boy’s eyelashes were his most remarkable feature … women must hate him for those long, long silky lashes, that were a full shade darker than his curly blond hair. Seventeen years and a bit, the same as Guy. Tom had learned in these last few days that the two boys had gone to Wellington in the same term, though not the same dormitory, for Guy was in the Beresford and Dick had said he was in something called the Lynedoch.

  Dick said, ‘Guy’s a top-hole c
hap, you know, sir.’

  Tom said, ‘I’m glad to hear you think so.’

  ‘It isn’t that he’s so good at games. I’m sure he’ll be fly-half for the XV this winter, and of course this year was his third in the XI … it’s him. He’ll be a school prefect next term, everyone’s positive, though they already have two in the Beresford – and it’s very rare for a dormitory to have three … I wish he liked sailing, then he might come down to Lyme and stay with us.’

  ‘What sort of a boat do you have?’ Tom asked.

  ‘A Bristol Channel pilot cutter. It’s Dad’s, well, the family’s really. Mummy likes to sail, too, and so do my sisters – I have three. Terrible girls! And my brother, of course, the one who was rowing for First Trinity at Henley … She’s not a fast boat, so we don’t go in for racing, much – just cruising.’

  ‘Those Bristol Channel pilots are wonderful sea boats, though.’

  ‘You need one to sail off Lyme,’ the boy said, his eagerness growing. ‘It’s all right inside West Bay, but to get round Portland Bill you have to make Portland Race, and that’s …’

  ‘I know it,’ Tom said, smiling, ‘I nearly lost a destroyer in Portland Race on a really bad night.’

  ‘Is St Alban’s Race as bad, sir?’

  ‘It can be worse.’

  ‘Westward there are no races, but the further down channel you get, the more you are facing the open Atlantic, and … but it’s very stupid of me to try and tell you about all this, sir.’

  Tom said, ‘Don’t call me “sir”, Dick. It makes me feel about ninety-five. If you were to join the navy and come as a snotty into my ship, then it would have to be “sir”, but now … Tom.’

  The youth smiled up. ‘Thank you … Tom.’

  Tom looked down. ‘I wish we could go sailing together.’

  His heart began to pound, his head was a little light, and he felt queasy under the breast bone. The boy had been four days in his flat and this longing for him had been growing all the time. But growing towards what? Tom closed his mind to the question. He did not know, he did not want to know, he did not dare to know. Four nights the boy and he had spent alone in the flat. This was the fifth, and last, night.

  He forced himself to keep his voice steady – ‘I told you, I have no boat now. I used to keep my little ketch down at Buckler’s Hard … so if I go sailing, it has to be as crew with someone else.’

  Dick jumped to his feet. ‘Oh, I wish you could come down to Lyme, sir … Tom. My people would love it! Dad’s awfully keen on the navy. He wanted to be a sailor himself but his eyes are dud … Do you think you could come down this summer?’

  Tom looked down into the eager eyes, under those taunting, flaunting eyelashes, the eyes blinking now in the intensity of the boy’s emotion. His trousers were tight, and Tom could clearly see the bulge of his genitals. What would the boy do if he reached out and put his hand on that bulge, gently undid the buttons? The thought caused a spasm which made him turn round quickly, take a box of matches off the mantelpiece and fumble with his pipe. He was being swept forward by the nameless flood, the curse that had been laid on him. Could he live through this night without disgracing himself, and ruining this young man’s life?

  A bead of sweat ran down the side of his face and he wiped it off with a handkerchief, ‘Phew, it’s hot in here … terrible summer we’re having.’

  ‘It’s wonderful sailing weather, though,’ Dick said. ‘And swimming. Do you like swimming, Tom?’

  Tom met the boy’s eyes. He found it hard to breathe, as a strong erection grew inside his trousers. The boy’s eyes were down, looking at it, and he seemed to be holding his breath. Dick took a step towards him. As if by accident, but it was no accident, Dick Yeoman did what Tom had just held himself back from doing a few moments ago – his hand brushed Tom’s fly, and rested, the palm opening.

  The telephone rang. The pipe fell from Tom’s mouth and he started violently. He muttered, ‘God!’ and stooped to pick up the pipe. Dick Yeoman sank into a chair, his face flushed, his hand trembling on the arm of the chair.

  Tom went to the telephone and lifted the receiver off its hook. ‘Rowland,’ he said.

  ‘Tom! Charlie Arbuthnot here. You are posted to Monmouth, as commander. Come to the Admiralty at once, to take delivery of some secret documents for the captain – who is Brandt, by the way.’

  ‘I thought Monmouth was refitting.’

  ‘She was. She’s ready. The job was finished in a hurry and she sails very soon. We haven’t sent out the war-readiness signal yet, but it’s likely at any time now. See you in half an hour … And bring your gear with you. We’ll be sending you straight down by the newspaper train.’

  Tom returned the receiver to its hook and walked back to the fireplace. The flood had abated, desire vanished. The boy knew it. Tom said, ‘I have to go – now. Jones will be here at the usual time to make your breakfast and see that you get a cab to Waterloo … Why don’t you go to bed? It’s been a long day.’

  ‘Couldn’t I help you pack?’

  ‘Not really, Dick. Thanks all the same.’ He put out his hand and they shook, formally.

  Daily Telegraph, Saturday, July 25, 1914

  ULSTER PREPARED FOR A BLOCKADE PROVISION FOR A YEAR

  From Our Special Correspondent. Belfast, Friday night. Anyone who has watched the progress made by the headquarters staff appreciates that very little has been left undone to make complete the preparations for a grave emergency. We may be sure that the subject of the food supply has not been forgotten, and if it should be the intention of the Government to blockade Ulster ports when a Provisional Government is in being, they will find that the attempt to force the loyal province to surrender will be a much longer process than they imagine … The potato crop promises to be a record in yield and of exceedingly good quality. The export of meat is also an important part of Ulster’s trade. The meat supply certainly will not fail … There will be no difficulty with regard to the milk, butter, and egg supply.

  THE WOMEN AND CHILDREN

  The following have been selected vice-presidents of the ‘Help the Ulster Women and Children’ Council:

  Sir Edward Carson

  The Duke of Portland

  Earl Roberts

  Mr Rudyard Kipling

  Mr Walter Long

  Dr Bruce Poeter

  Viscount Milner

  The Duchess of Somerset

  Earl Curzon

  Lady Greenall

  of Kedlestone

  Mr Harold Smith, MP

  The object of the Council is to provide hospitality for loyalist refugees who may be driven out of their homes by civil war or disturbance…

  The Ulster news was depressing, as always, Cate thought; but the bravado and the threats seemed less important today – because their shadow was being swallowed by another, larger, blacker shadow falling over the whole of Europe, perhaps the world. It looked like war now, which the continentals seemed to want, for one reason here, another there. But England had everything she wanted. Why should she go to war? One did not make war without serious cause, imminent and mortal danger … or a promise. An Englishman keeps his word, he’d told Laurence and Stella a hundred times, since they were little children. And England had promised to protect the neutrality of Belgium. But that was all. If the Germans and French kept away from Belgium, all would be well. And surely they would. Surely neither the Kaiser nor the French president – never could remember his name – were so stupid as deliberately to bring out against them the richest country in the world, the biggest fleet? They must understand what sea power could do to them … what bulldogs the English were. Once they got their teeth in, they’d never let go …

  He shook the paper irritably. He was thinking like a Tory politician making a Boer War recruiting speech. What was the truth of the matter? The British Empire was huge, but just what was its power, for war? Canada, South Africa, New Zealand, Australia, and Newfoundland could be relied on to send their men; but there weren�
��t many, when reckoned against the German or French armies. They would also send wheat, meat, wool, and raw materials of all kinds as long as the seas were open to them. India could send many men … but did England really want native troops fighting a white man’s war, in Europe? It might lead to a great deal of trouble later. The Indian Empire had great resources in minerals, too, and some foodstuffs – rice, wheat, tea, he thought, and jute: but the country also required many soldiers to keep the peace so it wasn’t all a credit. The rest of the Empire – Fiji, Samoa, Rhodesia, Jamaica, and the Antilles, the Gold Coast, Gambia, Nigeria, Kenya, Mauritius, the Seychelles, Ceylon, the Anglo-Egyptian Sudan, Egypt itself – under British protection – Sierra Leone, the Solomon Islands, British Honduras, the Gilbert and Ellice Islands … much of it produced raw materials – hard woods, copra, tea, coffee, sugar – but all of it needed governing, policing, and protecting. Sea power was the link that kept these colonies under British rule; but the mighty navy would be hard put to it to keep the many chains unbroken against an enemy strong at sea, and at the same time protect the heart of the Empire, the British Isles, against invasion.

  Cate got up with a jerk, throwing the paper down. He felt a premonition that war was indeed coming; and he could suddenly see, as vividly as he could see the lawn and trees outside, the actuality of the sacrifices and the changes – the sale of all those farms and mines, and railways and investments, to buy munitions of war; the undermining and eventual disappearance of manor and castle, pub and farmhouse, stable and kennel, a whole wonderful way of life; the lives or livings of hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions, of those people, the Garrods and Gorses, Cates and Rowlands and Strattons, the people you could rely on, and trust…

  8 Tuesday and Wednesday, August 4 and 5, 1914

  On July 27th, 1914, after four weeks of threats, counter-threats, entreaties, offers, negotiations, denials, warnings and ultimatums, Austria declared war on Serbia. On July 30th Russia ordered general mobilization. On July 31st Austria and Germany followed suit. On August 1st Germany declared war on Russia, and demanded to know from France what France’s attitude would be in the Russo-German war. France replied that she would act in her best interests; and, the same day, ordered general mobilization. On August 2nd, Germany demanded passage through Belgium for her armies, since this was the route laid down in her Schlieffen Plan for a war on two fronts. Belgium refused the demand. On August 3rd Germany declared war on France, and her armies entered Belgium, whose frontiers and independence she and others had guaranteed. Among those others was Great Britain, who now required Germany to withdraw her troops from Belgium at once. If Germany did not agree to do so by midnight of August 4th, German time, a state of war would exist between Great Britain and Germany. The British fleet was ready: the warning that war was imminent had gone out to all warships on July 28th. The army’s mobilization plans were complete.