by Murray Pura
He put on reading glasses. “First, Catherine and Albrecht in Switzerland, where we thank God they have safely landed along with Sean, who is eleven this Christmas, and Angelika, who is four, the youngest among us. All is well. Albrecht is writing a new book to form a trilogy along with My Spirit and My War. It’s to be called My Fatherland, Catherine writes, and is an appeal to the German people to remember their rich Christian past and bring it to the fore once again. He is receiving any number of invitations to speak at Swiss churches and universities, even to do a lecture series on von Pauls’s book Bearing the Cross and tie it into gospel teachings on Christ. Praise the Lord. The children are once more enchanted by their white horses, the Lipizzan stallions of Herr Salzgeber.”
He put several sheets of paper down. “You may read the whole letter for yourselves, I shall leave it on the side table.” He adjusted his glasses. “Now we have Shannon’s missive from Jerusalem. Robbie has been promoted to colonel.”
“Hear, hear!” cried Edward.
Lord Preston glanced at his eldest son over the top of his glasses. “He outranks you, Edward.”
“Only on land.”
“And not in the air,” quipped Kipp.
Lord Preston smiled. “Indeed.”
Edward got to his feet. “Still we must give credit where credit is due. Ladies and gentlemen, charge your glasses, there is plenty of orange squash about. Charge your glasses, I say. A toast to Colonel Robert Danforth. All the best to our brother in arms. God bless him.”
Kipp was up. “Amen.”
The others rose, juice glasses half filled, the boys and little Cecilia as well.
“Heah, heah,” she said.
They laughed and drained their glasses in one swallow.
“Very good.” Lord Preston returned to the letter. “I thank God, Shannon tells us things continue quiet since the riots several years back. And Patricia Claire is six and thriving. Her favorite foods are dates, figs, falafel, and, unsurprisingly, chocolate ice cream.”
People laughed and clapped.
Lord Preston set the letter aside.
“Finally, here is news from British East Africa, from Kenya. Victoria Anne wishes everyone a very Merry Christmas. Their mission is going well. Ben is flying to remote areas where they’ve planted all sorts of small churches. He’s been preaching and teaching and bringing in medical supplies—they have two nurses and a physician with them as well, you see. Praise God. She writes that Ramsay and Timothy will spend Christmas Day learning to ride elephants for the first time.”
All the boys in the room groaned in jealousy, including James and Peter, and Jane joined in.
Lord Preston peered at them over his glasses. “Why, they are quite old enough. Ramsay is all of twelve and Timothy will be ten in the spring. High time they rode elephants if they are in Africa.”
“And what can we ride?” Peter called out.
“The wind.” Kipp smiled. “I haven’t sold all my planes to Hicks and Winthrop yet. I have a nice one at the airstrip here I intend to keep. Who wants to go up this afternoon? I can take two or three at a time.”
Jane’s hand shot up. “Oh, I want to do that, Uncle Kipp, please, take me, please!”
Peter’s hand went up as soon as he saw Jane’s. “I’m in for a penny.”
James’s hand was just behind his brother’s. “And I’m in for a pound!”
Kipp laughed. “Right. There’s our first flight.”
“Oh, Kipp, dear.” Lady Preston set down her teacup. “Surely the rain isn’t cooperating. This is not decent flying weather.”
“The meteorologist on the BBC forecasted the showers would end by noon and we might even see a bit of sunshine. Straightaway after lunch we’ll fill Gladys with petrol and head up for our tumult in the clouds.”
“Not a tumult, please, Kipp,” his mother complained. “We had enough of those in the Great War.”
“I won’t do any dogfighting, Mum, I promise. Unless Wolfgang von Zeltner happens by. In which case we go on the attack.” Kipp turned to Jane. “Fancy a few stunts?”
“Yes! Oh, yes! Let’s fly like starlings or swallows, dipping and diving and swinging about all over the sky!”
Peter and James glanced at each other.
“Are you quite done?” Lord Preston lifted the letter in his hand. “I have a hike up Mount Kilimanjaro to commence.”
Several hours later
The ash grove
“So you felt good about all that flying?” asked Caroline.
“I did,” replied Kipp. “A splendid time was had by all.”
“All? I saw a few green faces get off the plane.”
“Well, that’s to be expected. Some were up for the first time.”
They were walking far back into the ash trees on the Ashton Park estate, hand in hand.
“Tell me how Jane the daredevil did.”
“Jane? She must be a bird, I swear. Nothing fazed her. Not loops or spins or barrel rolls.”
“What about her boyfriends?”
“You mean James and Peter? Nothing like her, though they’d never admit it. They hung on, I will give them that. Neither of them disgraced himself. She wanted barrel rolls and they wanted straight and level—that’s the size of it. They never said as much of course. ‘Faint heart never won fair lady.’ You know.”
“Yes, I know.” She leaned her head on his shoulder. “What about our boys?”
“Perfect. Born fliers. I gave each of them a go at the stick. Calm as could be. No nerves whatsoever.”
“Lovely. But don’t put any ideas about RAF careers in their heads. One in the family is quite enough for me.”
“Oh, well, it’s too soon for any of that.”
“What’s up for Boxing Day then?”
“Dad’s heading down to Dover Sky with anyone who wants to go out on Pluck. So Edward’s taking Colm and Owen. Char’s going with them, her three men. Terry and Libby are off with the lot as well, but Jane’s staying here. So we’ll take her up again. Her and Peter and James and Matt and Charles. And we’ll need to keep an eye on her. Terry and Lib will be at Dover Sky for the week.”
“I’m sure we don’t need to keep an eye on her, Kipp. She’ll soon be eighteen. What about Billy. What’s he fancy?”
Kipp laughed. “He had them poking their fingers and putting drops of blood under the microscope. Swore they’d be able to tell one another’s blood apart. They couldn’t, of course. I’m surprised there’s enough blood left in any of them to keep them running and jumping and chattering. In any case, he’s staying here with his microscope and his books. So with all their boys remaining at Ashton Park, the good Reverend Jeremiah Sweet and his charming wife, Emma, will be planting themselves here in Lancashire as well.”
“Sounds jolly. And you sound awfully jolly yourself. Are you sure you won’t miss the airline? No regrets at selling it off, love?”
“None at all. It’s in good hands, and I get to fly fighter planes for a living. What could be better than that?”
She rolled her eyes, her head still on his shoulder. “Oh, not much. You always must have your adventure, mustn’t you? I hope chasing girls like their cousins Peter and James will be excitement enough for our sons.”
“Well, don’t hold your breath, Caroline.”
“I never hold my breath in this family.”
Boxing Day and the Feast of Stephen, December 26, 1934
“Dad?”
“Hm?” Lord Preston was putting an expensive pair of binoculars in his suitcase, wrapping them around with thick woolen socks. “What is it, my boy?”
Edward stepped into his father’s bedroom. “Can we talk a bit?”
“Are you packed for Dover Sky?”
“Char’s got us squared away. I’m thinking of taking her on the Rodney with me.” He chuckled. “I’d be so shipshape they’d promote me to admiral in a fortnight.”
Lord Preston laughed as he fitted his binoculars carefully among his sweaters and pants. “We like the cut
of your jib, Commander Danforth.”
“Something like that. Listen, Dad, I wanted to thank you for arranging for me to return to the Royal Navy at my old rank.”
“Well, you earned it in the last war, didn’t you? A spot of training, a bit of a refit as the navy says, and you’ll be up to snuff in no time.”
“Dad.” He hesitated. “I know Lord Tanner approached you about my connections with Sir Oswald Mosley and the British Union of Fascists. I’m not sure what seeds of discord he hoped to sow. I don’t deny I was caught up in all of it—wanting a strong man at the top, wanting less democracy and more action, admiring Rome and Berlin. I understand you felt you needed to get me out to sea and away from the whole thing. I don’t blame you. My siding publicly with the fascists would have hurt the Conservative Party and it would have hurt you. Indeed it would have hurt my whole family, Char and the boys no less than anyone else. I want you to know you did the right thing by offering me the commission and giving me a chance to put it all behind me. I’m grateful, and I’m glad to be going aboard the Rodney.” He took a breath. “You’re a great statesman. But you’re even a greater father. You’ll be proud of me again, and you’ll forget all this mess with the fascists. I swear it.”
Lord Preston had stopped packing. “My boy, I am proud of you. A great talent resides within you, and you are young yet. I hope to see you back in the House before many years pass.”
“To tell you the truth, that thought is farthest from my mind. I enjoyed the speeches and debates. I liked getting my point across. But I’d like a break.”
Lord Preston smiled a soft smile. “A break before you become prime minister?”
Edward smiled too. “That’s right. Get my sea legs back. Fill my head with the cry of gulls and my lungs with the bite of the salt air. A few years of that and I’ll be holystoned through and through and ready to be the first man in the nation.”
“That’s the spirit.” Lord Preston thrust out his hand and his son took it. Then he drew Edward in and clapped him on the back.
“God bless you, my boy. God bless you.”
“Thank you, Father.”
“Are you ready to head down to Dover? Ready to shove off and put Pluck through her paces in the Channel?”
Edward nodded, still gripping his father’s hand. “Aye, aye, sir. Let’s weigh anchor.”
January, 1935
Plymouth and Devonport
Libby and Jane stood in the fog and damp and watched the Hood move away from land toward the Atlantic just as they had watched it leave England so many times before. As the great gray ship vanished among mists and waves with the vessels that always accompanied her, the two walked back to the car, where Skitt stood ready to drive them to the house.
“Another dreary winter for us, Skitt,” moaned Libby, “and another sunny one for Commander Fordyce in the Mediterranean.”
“Yes, my lady, but we’ll soon be in London with the others. You always look forward to that.”
“I do. So does Jane. She has her boyfriends after all.”
“Mum!” protested Jane as she slid into the backseat.
“But I would dearly love to have the Hood stay here for a winter and get refitted and whatnot so Terry could spend the season with his family for once.”
“I understand.” Skitt closed the doors and got in behind the wheel. “Montgomery will have tea and crumpets ready. And some of that excellent marmalade from the London shops.”
Libby laughed. “Well, that’s something. We’ll substitute crumpets and marmalade for my husband for the time being. What a proper English woman our American girl Montgomery has turned out to be.”
Skitt smiled and started the engine. “Aye. It’s a gift, isn’t it? A rare gift.”
Libby looked out the window at the gray water that lapped against the docks. “That it is.”
January, 1935
Gibraltar
MY DEAR LIBBY
YOUR PRAYERS ALONE SHOULD ASSURE YOUR APPOINTMENT AS ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY. WE WERE RAMMED ON THE PORT SIDE BY HMS RENOWN. AN ACCIDENT OF COURSE BUT HEADS WILL ROLL. THEY’VE PATCHED US UP HERE IN GIBRALTAR BUT WE MUST RETURN TO PLYMOUTH FOR MORE EXTENSIVE REPAIRS. SO AT LONG LAST YOU SHALL HAVE YOUR WISH. WE WILL BE IN ENGLAND FOR THE WINTER. HURRAH. SUCH TIMES IN PLYMOUTH AND LONDON AND ASHTON PARK WE SHALL HAVE. BLESS THE LORD O MY SOUL AND FORGET NOT ALL HIS BENEFITS. WE SHALL SEE YOU VERY SOON. LOVE TO JANE.
YOUR SAILOR HOME FROM THE SEA
TERRY
February, 1935
Plymouth and Devonport
“Oh, this is splendid! I’m so pleased!”
Libby had her arms around Terry’s neck as he disembarked from the Hood. He hugged her and kissed her on the cheek.
“You look wonderful,” he said. “And you smell wonderful.”
“Oh, any man would say that after being at sea with a thousand sailors and no woman within a hundred nautical miles.”
“A hundred? Try ten hundred. Well, my three-day leave starts now. Let’s not waste it on the dock. Where’s Jane?”
“She has examinations. Her tutor is hovering over her like a hawk. I wouldn’t have brought her anyway, Terry.”
“You wouldn’t? Why not?”
She hugged his arm as drops of rain began to fall. “I can’t give you the Mediterranean climate. But I can give you myself. We’re going to a little seaside hideaway for a day and a night. Just the two of us, the Royal Navy commander and his bride. No telephones, no telegraphs, no mail. All you’ll have is Libby Danforth Fordyce.”
“That sounds a bit dangerous.”
“You’re quite right.” She pulled him toward the car. “I’m driving. No Skitt either.”
“Now you do have me worried.”
She opened the passenger door for him and saluted. “Heart of oak are our ships, jolly tars are our men. We always are ready; steady, boys, steady.”
The drive to the hideaway was about fifteen miles. A half dozen stone cottages were strewn about a shoreline like shells. She took him to the one farthest from the others. It sat under a high cliff, and high tide stopped about twelve feet from its door. Terry eyed the ragged sprawl of seaweed.
“Suppose there’s a storm surge?” he asked her.
Libby smiled and opened the cottage door. “I’ll cling to you.”
The rain did fall more heavily that afternoon, and the wind picked up, hurling waves onto the stony brown sands. Terry stood at the window with a cup of tea as white exploded over the beach.
“It looks like the royal fireworks,” he said.
Libby knotted a dressing gown and slipped her arms around him from behind. “That’s a dramatic way of putting it.”
Terry continued gazing out the window.
Break, break, break,
On thy cold gray stones, O sea!
And I would that my tongue could utter
The thoughts that arise in me.
O, well for the fishermen’s boy,
That he shouts with his sister at play!
O, well for the sailor lad,
That he sings in his boat on the bay!
And the stately ships go on
To their haven under the hill;
But O, for the touch of a vanished hand,
And the sound of a voice that is still!
Break, break, break
At the foot of thy crags, O sea!
But the tender grace of a day that is dead
Will never come back to me.
“Well, aren’t you cheery?”
“I don’t think of it as cheery or not cheery, the sea. I just find its rhythms take me to eternal thoughts. On board ship I scarcely ever get to drift away like that. You know, as if I were a bit of wood or flotsam being carried about by the whitecaps.”
“My poet sailor.”
Terry put down his tea, turned around, and took her in his arms, kissing her ginger blond hair, her eyes, her cheeks, and finally her lips. Her grip tightened and tightened as his kisses grew longer and stronge
r.
“Oh, Terry.” She kept up her whispering. “I’m so glad that battleship knocked you about. I’m so glad I’ve got you to myself this winter.”
He picked her up and carried her away from the window. The rain was coming against it now, harsh and full, as if pails of water were being thrown at the glass. She heard the gulls shrieking and saw them dipping and wheeling and fighting through a pane blurred by the storm. She caught the high burst of a comber as it struck a large rock and split in half. Iron wave after iron wave marched into shore behind it.
February 1, 1935
Grenada, HMS Rodney
Dearest Char,
We’ve just dropped anchor here. The weather, as you might expect, is marvelous. Rodney had full-scale gunnery exercises in the Channel just two weeks ago, complete with star shells and searchlights, and now we’re in the tropics. What a change.
Rodney is a great ship, lots of wood and brass, teak decks, enough room forward to chalk out a football pitch. The return to the navy really has done me good. It’s quite the cliché to say it, but I feel like a new man. Especially here with palm trees all around. We’ll be paying a visit to Trinidad, St. Lucia, Dominica, and St. Kitts as well. Back across the Atlantic to Gibraltar in March.
I didn’t drop you a line to rattle on about my adventures, though I know the boys will be keen to hear about my ports of call. I wanted to tell you we will certainly be back in England for the king’s Silver Jubilee and the Fleet Review in July. Terry and the Hood will be there as well. The captain assures me there will be a brief stay at Devonport, so please be ready to come down with Owen and Colm, and we’ll rent a cottage. After that, who knows? But at least we can have a few days together, so plan for that, my sweet.
The sea may be just what I needed, but I miss you very much. It is impossible to gaze at the clear blue of the skies here without thinking of your eyes and your beauty. I love you.
Your Edward forever and ever
February–November, 1935
The Hood was repaired at Plymouth during the winter and spring. As predicted by Lord Preston, the Germans laid down the battleship Gneisenau in Kiel and began construction in May, just as Hood was anticipating her return to sea, while the battleship Scharnhorst was laid down in Wilhelmshaven in June. Work on the battleship Graf Spee continued at a steady pace in the same city where the Scharnhorst was being built.