London Dawn (11 page)

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 stronger.

“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.

In the air, the Heinkel 111, a twin-engine aircraft, had its first flight in February, while an improved version of the Dornier 17, with two engines and two tails, took to the air for the first time in May. The single-engine plane Kipp swore was a fighter, the Messerschmitt, also had its maiden flight in May. As the Germans tested and retested their aircraft, the British tried to catch up with a fighter designed by Hawker Aircraft Ltd. taking off in early November, and a fighter put together by R.J. Mitchell of Supermarine Aviation Works that would not find its way into the air for another four months. Kipp, champing at the bit, would have opportunities to help test both aircraft in 1936.

Meanwhile the family gathered in London at Easter; saw Edward off
to Portsmouth and HMS
Rodney
while Terry enjoyed a fortnight’s leave at Ashton Park; received a copy of Albrecht’s latest book,
Mein Vaterland
, which was being smuggled into Berlin, Munich, Tubingen, and other German cities; received good reports from Ben and Victoria and the Methodist mission in Kenya; and was relieved when letters from Shannon and Robbie arrived declaring all was well and that Jerusalem, though restless as always, remained at peace.

The
Hood
did not leave English waters through the spring and summer, and Libby was ecstatic. She and Terry and Jane had never had so much time together as a family—hiking, sailing
Pluck
off Dover, going on long drives in the country, and enjoying family meals at Ashton Park and Dover Sky. Twice they had Peter and James over to HMS Picadilly, as Jane insisted they call their house near Plymouth, and once in July they enjoyed the company of Edward, Charlotte, Colm, and Owen, who visited and dined with them.

“I feel so full of summer,” declared Libby in August. “Attending King George’s Silver Jubilee Fleet Review and getting Jane ready for Oxford have quite put me over the top in the most wonderful way.”

“The house will be very quiet without our girl,” said Terry.

“I shall keep you here to make up for it. I’ve written the king, the First Sea Lord, and the Archbishop of Canterbury. Something’s bound to break my way.”

“There is a strong possibility of war between Italy and Abyssinia, the Ethiopian Empire.”

“Oh, Father’s been going on about that all year.”

“I know you’ve been expecting us to stay in English waters until after Christmas as we usually do. But the threat of conflict in northern Africa may change all that. We’ve spent years training in the Mediterranean. It’s only natural for them to put us in there early if they have to.”

They were sitting in the garden behind HMS Picadilly, and Libby had her head back and her eyes closed.

“Really, I’m listening to bees hum and flowers open. I’m very lazy today. I don’t want to hear about wars and rumors of wars. Tell me I’m pretty and that you’ll love me forever and that the admiral has assigned you to shore command.”

“You are pretty and I will love you forever, but the admiral told me today we could ship out as soon as next Wednesday.”

Libby opened an eye. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

“A fine time you picked to tell me.”

“I don’t think there is a fine time. I’m as disappointed as you are. I was sure I’d have Christmas here. And I wanted to see Jane settled in at Lady Margaret Hall.”

“Oh, hang the navy.” Libby sat up. “What business is it of ours what happens between Mussolini and Ethiopia?”

“Britain wants Italy on our side in case we come to blows with Herr Hitler. Ethiopia certainly can’t help us politically. So we’re letting Il Duce have a free hand in Abyssinia. The Mediterranean Fleet is already helping move supplies for him and the Italian Army.”

Libby poured herself ice water from a pitcher. “That’s absurd. We’re not going to fight for Mussolini as well as carry cargo for him, are we?”

“No. Just run errands with the Union Jack proudly flying.”

“I see. What does Edward think?”

“Well, the old Edward who marched with the fascists is long gone. The new Edward, like most people who turn away from something they fervently embraced, takes every opportunity to rant and rave against what he left behind. Our government’s support of Mussolini is nothing short of treason in his mind. He believes the Italians will certainly side with Germany against us should war come. He’s been reprimanded quite a few times for speaking out. He fancies he’s still in Parliament with the freedom to debate in whatever manner he sees fit. But he’s on a ship of war flying the Royal Ensign, and there’s a difference.”

“Why can’t the League of Nations sort this out? What are they good for?”

“The short answer to that is, not much. They haven’t done anything for China even though Japan’s still invading their country and attacking Shanghai. They won’t lift a finger to help Ethiopia either. Well, how can they? Britain’s already made its loyalties clear, France is looking the other way too, and the United States won’t even join the League.” He watched a robin drop from branch to branch of a nearby tree. “I can’t help thinking we’ll all regret the actions we’re taking now.”

“No gloom. The possibility of your weighing anchor next week is enough of a raincloud for now.”

“Or sooner, love. It could be sooner.”

“I don’t want to hear that either, Terrence Fordyce. Can we talk about something that has absolutely nothing to do with the navy or Mussolini or your traveling thousands of miles away from me?”

“Right. Golf. Fancy a game of golf? Loser buys fish and chips at Cuttlefish Mary’s.”

Libby perked up. “Golf? Fish and chips? With malt vinegar?”

“Of course malt vinegar. D’you think I would ruin your chips with ketchup like the Yanks do?”

She was on her feet. “There’s nothing better. Golf and chips. You’re a tonic. I’ll get my clubs and may the best man win.”

“That’s the spirit, my girl.”

The navy rang Terry up at four the next morning. Less than forty-eight hours later the
Hood
was on its way to the Mediterranean and Gibraltar.

A little over a month after it sailed, the Italian Army invaded Ethiopia on October third. The fighting raged on through the fall.

Kenya was on the southern border of Ethiopia. By the end of November all mail from Ben and Victoria had ceased.

3

March, 1936

RAF Martlesham Heath, Suffolk

“Right. You have a go, Danforth.”

“What did you think of it, Captain Harrington?”

“I don’t know what I think of it. You take her up and tell me what I should think of it after you’ve landed.”

Kipp grinned. “Very good, sir.” He jumped up onto the wing and slid into the cockpit of the aircraft. “What does Sammy say?”

“ ‘The aircraft is simple and easy to fly and has no apparent vices.’ He claims it responds very well. So now we’ll let the old man give her the once over.”

“Not that old, sir. Still in my thirties, and my eyes are like a hawk’s.”

“I’ve read your medical report, laddie. I still think you’d love to be climbing into a Sopwith Camel rather than this Hurricane.”

“Is that what they call it?”