London Dawn

by Murray Pura

  Edward lifted his head to the sky and let the wind and water lash his face. “And please, God, I ask You for my son.”

  Before midnight Commodore Dalrymple-Hamilton told the ship’s crew there had been torpedo attacks on the Bismarck from biplanes on the aircraft carrier Ark Royal. However, he cautioned them that no damage to the German battleship appeared to have resulted and that, despite the best efforts of the Rodney’s crew, he did not believe they could catch Bismarck before she reached safe harbor in France. Edward felt the dejection on board the ship as he made his way to his room and collapsed exhausted on his bunk.

  I see you lying and looking at the ceiling, Charlotte, my love, and I feel the fright in you for Owen and for me. My boy Colm is worried for his brother and father as he lies in the dark of Ashton Park. Eva—there you are rescuing people from burning buildings, but you couldn’t rescue the man you love from a burning ship; you couldn’t rescue Owen—is that what you’re thinking? Is that what I’m feeling from you as Rodney pounds desperately through the waves to try to avenge my son and the man you love? And what good is revenge? What difference will it make?

  Edward turned on his side, put out his hand, and touched the cold metal of the bulkhead.

  My sister is a widow for the second time in her life. She cries and does not sleep. Her daughter, Jane, has lost a father, and she lies on her bed tonight and cannot dream. Terry was kind to her from the beginning, gentle and kind and playful. He rests on the seabed with over a thousand men, but none of those who loved him or loved his shipmates can rest. Not this night. Perhaps not any night.

  Edward was once more on his back, staring up into the dark.

  If we sink the Bismarck she will no longer be a widow maker. No longer the maker of orphans or the fatherless. If we sink the Bismarck she can no longer wreak havoc and kill. That is more justice than it is revenge.

  Sleep began to overwhelm him.

  A sailor knocked on his door. “A message from the commodore, sir.”

  Edward took the note and switched on his light while the able seaman waited for a response.

  NEW REPORTS INDICATE THE BISMARCK IS GOING IN CIRCLES AND NO LONGER MAKING HEADWAY. EITHER HER STEERING MECHANISM OR HER RUDDER APPEARS TO BE DAMAGED. THIS MAY HAVE HAPPENED DURING THE TORPEDO ATTACK. THE POSSIBILITY OF CATCHING HER IS NO LONGER REMOTE. DID YOU OFFER UP A PRAYER TO THE LORD OF THE SEA?

  Edward scribbled out a message on the back of the note. “I offered up Nelson’s prayer before Trafalgar.” He handed the note to the sailor. “Take this to the commodore.”

  He sat on the edge of his bunk. Thoughts and images were swirling in his head.

  Did You answer my prayer, my God? Did You answer the prayers of ten thousand Englishmen and ignore the prayers of the German fleet and nation?

  An alarm suddenly blared over the Tannoy. “Action stations! Action stations!”

  Edward vaulted off his bunk toward his action station at the bridge.

  As he ran, he watched the gunnery crew climb to the armored control tower above the bridge. These were the sailors who used the range finder and fired the sixteen-inch guns. Edward watched them take their stations.

  “Shoot true,” he murmured under his breath.

  When he entered the bridge the commodore turned to him. “Admiral Tovey is near us on the King George the Fifth. He believes there will be night action. Stand by.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  But they stood through the dark of the night and only watched the bow cut into the waves and rear its head again, smothered in white foam against the blackness of sea and sky.

  Eventually there was a gray dawn, a pale sun, and an ocean restless with waves. Edward checked his watch—seven twenty-two, Wednesday, May 27. The cruiser Norfolk steamed up from the south and joined them. Edward kept his eyes focused on the line between sky and sea. In a short time the cruiser Dorsetshire was also there.

  “Bismarck sighted from the tower,” said one of the officers suddenly.

  “Where away?” asked the commodore.

  “Five degrees off the starboard bow. Twenty-five thousand yards.”

  “Just over fourteen miles.” Dalrymple-Hamilton leaned forward in his seat. “Is Lieutenant Commander Crawford in the tower with the gunnery crew?”

  “Yes, sir. He confirms Bismarck is in sight.”

  Edward glanced at his watch again. Eight forty-four.

  “Tell him to prepare to fire.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.” The officer spoke into the microphone. “Prepare to fire.”

  A minute went by. Two minutes.

  “Range?” asked Dalrymple-Hamilton.

  “Twenty-three thousand, four hundred yards, sir.”

  “Open fire.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.” The officer spoke calmly into the microphone again. “Fire.”

  A heartbeat. The ting-ting of the warning fire bells.

  The ship shook, and the sixteen-inch guns of A and B turret thundered. Smoke and flame burst over the front of Rodney.

  “Crawford reports Bismarck has returned fire, sir.”

  “Very well.”

  Edward and the others on the bridge clearly heard the screech of the shells passing overhead.

  A half minute later there was another shriek from tons of flying metal. Massive columns of white water shot up to port and starboard.

  “She’s straddled us.” Dalrymple-Hamilton kept his eyes forward. “Close the distance and continue firing.”

  “Aye, aye, sir. Close the distance and continue firing.”

  Again the howl of flying steel. Again the huge spouts of water and the crash of high explosives.

  “Crawford reports we have straddled Bismarck on our third salvo.”

  “Very good.”

  “Crawford reports we have two hits from our fourth salvo.”

  “Very good. Carry on.”

  “Fires in Bismarck’s forecastle. Their A and B turrets appear to have been hit.”

  Rodney’s guns poured more fire and rattled the bridge with their blasts.

  “We have a hit on the Bismarck’s upper deck.”

  The scream of Bismarck’s shells. More geysers. No longer close to Rodney.

  “We’ve straddled the enemy again, sir. The bridge has been destroyed. So has their conning tower.”

  Edward’s watch read nine thirteen.

  The lads in the engine room told me they had family killed in Coventry and Liverpool and Nottingham by the German bombers. Others had family killed and maimed in London and Dover and Portsmouth. The men have not forgotten or forgiven. I expect the sailors loading shells into our sixteen-inch guns are no different. Nor the men directing the fire from the tower.

  “We’ve straddled her again, sir. Spotters report a hit behind the funnel.”

  Nine twenty-seven.

  “Spotters report we’ve knocked out D turret, sir.”

  Nine thirty-one.

  The distance between Rodney and Bismarck gradually closed to less than three thousand yards—less than two miles.

  Edward and the commodore and the others could see Bismarck plainly from the bridge.

  “It’s completely on fire from bow to stern,” whispered Edward.

  Rodney’s guns blasted Bismarck again and again. Edward watched a shell travel from their guns straight into the Bismarck’s B turret and blow it apart.

  “Their Bruno turret is hit, sir,” an officer informed Dalrymple-Hamilton.

  “I see that. Are the six-inch guns engaging as rapidly as possible?”

  “Yes, sir. The range is perfect for them. Almost four hundred six-inch shells have been fired. And over two hundred sixteen-inch shells. Bismarck’s return fire has been erratic. Her last salvo was observed at nine thirty-one.”

  “We shall follow the standard rules of engagement and continue to fire until the Bismarck strikes her colors and surrenders or she is sunk. We shall fire so long as Sir Admiral Tovey on King George the Fifth orders the battleships and the cruisers to keep inflicting
damage on the enemy.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  Bismarck seemed to vanish in high white shell splashes and black smoke—red flame spitting and roiling and stabbing—reemerging bright with a fierce burning, and disappearing again as more near misses threw up tall columns of spray or hits that struck the German battleship with more flame and more explosions.

  Edward finally closed his eyes.

  LORD, make me to know mine end, and the measure of my days, what it is; that I may know how frail I am. Behold, thou hast made my days as an handbreadth; and mine age is as nothing before thee: verily every man in his best state is altogether vanity. Surely every man walketh in a vain show: surely they are disquieted in vain: he heapeth up riches, and knoweth not who shall gather them.

  Sunday, May 27, House of Commons, Church House, London

  At eleven a.m. Winston Churchill rose to address the House of Commons at Church House.

  “This morning, shortly after daybreak, the Bismarck, virtually immobilized, without help, was attacked by British battleships that pursued her. I don’t know the result of this action. It seems however, that Bismarck was not sunk by gunfire, and now will be sunk by torpedoes. It is believed that this is happening right now. Great as is our loss in the Hood, the Bismarck must be regarded as the most powerful enemy battleship, as she is the newest enemy battleship, and the striking of her from the German Navy is a very definite simplification of the task of maintaining effective mastery of the northern sea and maintenance of the northern blockade.”

  He sat back down. A note was handed to him. He stood a second time.

  “I have just received news that the Bismarck is sunk.”

  The hall erupted in cheers and cries and applause. Lord Preston rose to his feet along with the others but made no sound and did not clap his hands. The cheering continued for several minutes. He made his way through the press of MPs and out into the street where he hailed a cab. Alighting at a house in Camden, he knocked on the door. Charlotte answered.

  “Father,” she said. “I thought you were in the House of Commons today.”

  “I have just come from there. Where is Libby?”

  “We were both having tea in the parlor.”

  He took her hand. “Let us go there.”

  Libby saw her father and got to her feet.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Bismarck is sunk. The prime minister has just announced it.” He cleared his throat and repeated the words. “Bismarck is sunk.”

  At first Libby didn’t respond.

  “I suppose I feel differently from many in England,” she said after several moments. “I cannot be happy about more death even if it is the death of the enemy. I wish Bismarck had surrendered.”

  “So do I.”

  “I pray Edward is well. When will we find out?”

  “Very soon, I should think.”

  “And what about Owen? Poor Char has been going about with a tremendous burden on her shoulders.”

  “I expect we shall know about Owen too before the day is out.”

  Libby walked across the room and hugged Charlotte. Then she put her arms around her father.

  “People say they are surprised I’m not bitter at God, Papa. But I have led a blessed life. Michael was a wonderful husband, and so was Terry. I should not have missed it for the world. If I had been told at twenty whom I was to marry and that I would lose them both, I suppose I would not have gone ahead. But now that I look back I can only thank God for how He has cared for me. I loved both the men He gave me with all my heart, and they loved me back in the same way.”

  Sunday, May 27, aboard HMS Rodney in the North Atlantic

  At the same moment, hundreds of miles away on the North Atlantic, Rodney was making her way through wind-ragged seas toward Scotland. She would put up in Greenock on the River Clyde for fuel and oil before departing for the South Boston Navy Yard in America for repair and a refit of her engines and boilers. Edward returned to the bridge after a visit to the engine room and saluted.

  “The lads are in fine spirits, sir,” he reported. “They were glad to hear my account of the battle.”

  “If it hadn’t been for their efforts with those boilers and engines,” responded the commodore, “there wouldn’t have been a battle, certainly not a successful one. I hope you conveyed my hearty thanks to them all.”

  “I did, sir. One of them replied with Nelson’s admonition at Trafalgar. “England expects that every man will do his duty.”

  Dalrymple-Hamilton laughed. “Did he? God bless him. And God bless you.” He handed Edward a note. “We’ve just received this signal.”

  LEADING SEAMAN OWEN DANFORTH WAS INJURED IN HMS PRINCE OF WALE’S BATTLE WITH THE BISMARCK. HE HAS BEEN LAID UP IN SICK BAY. INJURIES ARE MINOR AND A FULL RECOVERY IS EXPECTED. HE SENDS CONGRATULATIONS TO HIS FATHER ON HMS RODNEY’S SINKING OF THE BISMARCK. PSALM 18:37.

  “Oh, sir.” Edward read the note a second time. His throat tightened. “This is very good news indeed. Thank God.”

  “I’ll add a heartfelt Church of England amen to that, Commander.”

  “We use the verse for Royal Navy shorthand, but I don’t recall it off the top of my head.”

  The commodore smiled. “It has been a turbulent three or four days, and the Protestant chaplain informs me there are more than thirty-one thousand verses in the Bible. You can’t be expected to remember them all.”

  “Still, I should like to know what the verse said he sent to me.”

  “ ‘I have pursued mine enemies, and overtaken them: neither did I turn again till they were consumed.’ Victory at sea, Commander. And, in your case, the greater victory of a son brought back from the dead.”

  13

  November 30, 1941

  Ashton Park

  “It is that rarest of things,” Lord Preston murmured. “A blue sky in November.”

  He stood on the sea cliff and closed his eyes to the cut of the wind and the knifing brilliance of the sun on the waters. Behind him he heard the laughter of the children and the good-natured shouts of Todd Turpin and Harrison as they took them on a walk through the woods.

  We have come through a hurricane, my Lord. I thank You for the lives of the very young.

  He opened his eyes, took in the light, and saw again Eva as she had hurled herself into Owen’s arms, almost knocking him off his crutches and off his feet as he returned home on leave. Another image emerged, out of the swirl of blue water and sparkling light, of Billy embracing Jane on their wedding day at Dover Sky, his hands lifting her white veil and cupping her face while placing a gentle kiss on her lips. Matt was there in RAF blue to applaud, and Ramsay, and Ben from King’s Cross, as well as Sean and Kipp along with their Pickering Green squadron, including Wilkie, Miller, Peterson, and Packer. Jeremy performed the wedding ceremony for his son, Billy, and his bride under a bright September sky by the swan pond.

  “My lord.”

  Lord Preston heard the jingle of a harness and the stamp of hooves behind him. He turned to see Tavy holding the traces of a black gelding that was pulling a small buggy.

  “Horse and cart, Tavy?”

  “You wished to be at the airfield for Lord Kipp’s arrival. We don’t have a car that can negotiate this track. And he is due to land in less than ten minutes.”

  “Ah.”

  Tavy helped Lord Preston up to the seat beside him.

  “I shouldn’t mind handling the reins a bit,” Lord Preston said.

  “By all means, my lord.”

  Lord Preston took up the traces and urged the gelding into a tight circle and back the way he had come. Most of the ash trees were bare, so sunlight was free to streak down through the branches and set on fire everything in its path. It gleamed along the two men’s shoulders.

  “A splendid day, Tavy.”

  “Lovely, my lord.”

  “We prayed our way through the storm.”

  “We did indeed, my lord.”

  “Not to say there isn�
�t more to pray about. The fighting between Rommel and our Eighth Army in North Africa is fierce. Robbie and Skitt are in it up to their necks.”

  “War in heaven, war on earth, as you have emphasized on several occasions.”

  “Yes, Tavy, the clash of wills. I pray for Robbie and Skitt’s well-being. And I pray for the defeat of the Nazi and Italian armies. Just as we prayed during the air war over Britain, that the wicked would perish and their schemes along with them.”

  “Amen.”

  “This continues to be my prayers—our prayers—for Edward on Rodney, though the ship rests in Iceland for the time being. And for Owen, reassigned to King George the Fifth—I believe I have that right—fighting in the waters off Norway and escorting convoys to Russia. Russia, hmm, how odd to say that, but Herr Hitler has attacked the Slavic people as well as everybody else.”

  “He has.”

  “The brightest news is Jeremy may well be tapped on the shoulder for bishop. I know his name has come before the prime minister and all the proper church officials. It was his leadership during the Blitz, you see, the spirit and backbone he put into people.”

  “I have found his services to be inspiring. Still, m’lord, a rough go for him and his wife.”

  “Of course. Two sons gone. The price paid. A terrible price paid. My first grandchildren. How I miss them. But even in my grief I am not left without the grace of God. Billy’s marriage to Jane was beautiful and memorable.”

  “It was indeed.”

  The sound of an airplane came to their ears. They glanced at each other. Tavy smiled.

  “To speak of grace, my lord. There is a sound we used to hear every day. And every time we heard it we knew it to be a blessing, for it meant someone was coming to stand between you and me and the schoolyard bully.”