We Joined The Navy (13 page)

The cadets rocked with laughter. The lesser gods howled, rolled in their seats, hooting, holding their sides and wiping tears from their eyes. When the Admiral laughs, all laugh.

‘Now I expect you’re all saying that it’s all very well for me to talk, but how does one become a leader? There are no hard and fast rules, I’m afraid. It’s not a thing you can teach by correspondence course. You learn by experience, and I can’t give you that experience and I don’t think I would even if I could. But I can give you some hints.

‘First of all, you must know what you’re doing. You must know your job. It’s no good leading men if you don’t know where you’re leading them. You’ll be like the grand old Duke of York who marched his men to the top of the hill and then marched them down again.

‘You must
know
your men. You must try and understand that you’re not dealing with machines but with people who feel and react and behave in different ways in different circumstances.

Unless you take the trouble to get to know them, you’re wasting your time. I don’t mean just a chap’s name and official number and whether he’s G or T. I mean what sort of a person is he, what is his background, and what’s he thinking about the ship and his job and his mess.

‘You must look after your men. There are no bad ratings, only bad officers. You must make it your business to see to their welfare. Never be too tired to speak to a chap when he wants your advice, never dismiss a complaint without investigating it, and never neglect an opportunity for advancing a rating or helping him in his job. And don’t try to be popular. It’s the curse of the Navy. There are too many
nice
officers in the Navy as it is.

‘Above all, keep your sense of humour. This is really vital. Given two men of the same ability, the man with the sense of humour will go furthest. By that I don’t mean a nasty, vicious, carping sense of humour. You must still be loyal to your men and to those above you. What I mean is the ability to recover from setbacks, the ability to take each day as it comes, and the ability to see the funny side whatever happens. It’s a priceless asset. Value it above gold. I well remember when my ship was torpedoed, I found myself floating about in the water next to my Sergeant-Major of Royal Marines, my Regulating Chief Stoker, and one of my Lieutenants. The Chief Stoker wiped the oil out of his eyes, looked around him, saw the Lieutenant and me, grinned and said to the Sergeant-Major: “Gawd, ain’t it amazin’ how all the scum comes to the top!” ‘

Again a concerted paroxysm of laughter swept down and across the hall and back. Once more the senior officers turned and looked wonderingly at each other, their faces crinkled with laughter.

‘Now I know that on these occasions the best moment of all comes when the Admiral gets what he’s got to say off his chest and goes. Gentlemen, that great moment is now at hand. Good luck to you all, and thank you.’

Afterwards, the Admiral circulated with a drink in his hand among the College officers.

‘Let me see now.
Badger
, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Do you remember that microphone cover?’

‘Very well indeed, sir. I shake when I think back on it.’

‘Never mind. It was a perfect example of the kind of thing I was trying to put across. Do they still call you The Bodger?’

‘I’m afraid they do, sir.’

‘Must be something in it. What are you doing here?’

‘I’m in charge of the Beattys, sir.’

‘How do you find them?’

‘Great fun, sir. Quite a promising lot. They can be infuriating, of course, but on the whole I find them very rewarding, sir.’

‘Do you like training jobs?’

‘It’s a very great responsibility, sir. More than almost any job. I’m very fond of it.’

‘I’m glad you find it so. I think you’re quite right, too. We need officers with a sense of vocation to fill these jobs. Well, I’m glad to have met you again, Badger.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

The Admiral moved on.

Others closed round The Bodger.

‘Well, I don’t know what you’re all getting on about,’ said The Bodger indignantly. ‘What was I to say? The man asks me if I enjoy it. I do. So I tell him so. That’s not to say I want another job like this one. It would kill me. Anyway, they’re a bloody good crowd. Beat your lot at tennis last Sunday, anyway.’

‘Oh well, if you’re going to bring that up.’

The night before the Beattys left Dartmouth, The Bodger intimated that he and his staff would be in ‘The Floating Bridge’ and there would be beer for anyone who cared to come. Lieutenant Mathewson sang a song about lunatic asylums which had the refrain: ‘Come inside you silly bastards, come inside.’ Lieutenant Chipperd sang a song with the refrain: ‘And the pig got up and slowly walked away.’ Lieutenant Brakeherst recited a version of ‘The Boy on the Burning Deck,’ with gestures. Mr Fraud sang ‘The Harlot of Jerusalem.’

The Bodger made a speech. Mr Froud was the toast-master.

‘My lords, ladies and gentlemen, pray silence for Lieutenant-Commander Robert Bollinger Badger, Royal Navy, otherwise known as The Bodger!’

There was a tempest of clapping and shouts of ‘Bodger for king!’ as The Bodger climbed laboriously on to a table-and waved his tankard.

‘Gentlemen, this is for me a sad, sad moment. When I think of this splendid College of ours, the amount of taxpayers’ money lavished upon it, the equipment it has for turning reasonable officer material out of the raw natural state, when I consider that I am now looking round at the survivors of the worst that College can do, when I realise that I see before me the Navy’s future officers and leaders, the sifted and graded results of three months’ work, the cream of a proud mother country, then I think to myself--”God help us!”‘

The Bodger took a huge swallow from his tankard.

‘But do not be dismayed. Worse men than you have reached flag rank. The path to the top is lined with stinkers. The game is to outstink the next bastard, to out-Herod the er--next bastard. People will tell you the Navy’s going to the dogs. And so it is. It’s been going to the dogs ever since I can remember, certainly since I joined. My father was a naval officer and the Navy was going to the dogs in his day. My grandfather was a naval officer and he left the Navy because it was going to the dogs. They were thinking of introducing steam or something. My
great
-grandfather--now what the hell did my great-grandfather do?--oh, yes, he refused to
join
the Navy in spite of all my great-great-grandfather could do because he thought the Navy had
gone
to the dogs. He didn’t approve of Lady Hamilton. My great-great-grandfather ... so don’t be alarmed when people tell you the Navy’s going to the dogs. It’s
always
going to the dogs. It’s when people stop saying it’s going to the dogs and start telling you what a splendid service it is and how much better and better it’s going to be in the future,
that’s
when you start worrying. As long as everybody is saying the Navy is going to the dogs then you’ve nothing to worry about. All is well.

‘Having said that, I will now give you a toast. I want you to drink with me to the future. The future’s in your hands and may you have as good a time making as big a mess of it as your fathers and grandfathers before you. Good luck to you all in the future and particularly in the Training Cruiser where you’ll need it, believe me. I don’t know who will be in charge of you in the Training Cruiser but I wish him luck as well!’

The Beattys made a strange picture on the station platform. They had been issued with one trunk and enough kit to fill three. Those cadets who had not taken the advice of the pensioners who cleaned out the chest flats and sent home for extra luggage found themselves in difficulties. Maconochie travelled up to London looking as though he had been evicted by the bailiffs with his trunk, a canvas hold-all, three laundry bags full of shoes, five paper parcels and a pair of boots hung over his arm by their laces.

Michael went up to London with three trunks and no very clear idea of what he had learnt at Dartmouth or even why he had been sent there.

‘Never mind, Mike,’ said Paul. ‘All things come to those who wait. Think what you know now that you didn’t know before. I can’t think of anything offhand but there must be something. I know! You’re a leader, boy! You’ve got the uniform to prove it!’

H.M.S.
Barsetshire
, the Cadet Training Cruiser, was a comfortable ship, at least in the opinion of her officers and her ship’s company. The cadets’ opinion of her was not known, nor was it consulted. She had been built in the spacious days before Hitler, when it was not unusual for a naval officer to have a private income and when recruiting for the Navy was not a subject of party recrimination in Parliament but depended on more mundane influences, such as the end of the hop-picking and harvesting seasons and the decline of local industries. Her high speed and four funnels made her ideal for service on the China Station where the one enabled her to return from Wei Hai Wei in record time for the Hong Kong Races and the other four impressed the Chinese. Her peacetime service in the tropics evidently demonstrated her admirable qualities for wartime service in the Arctic, for she never steamed south of the British Isles throughout the war except after D-Day when she was attacked off the Normandy coast by a group of Messerschmitts who, it was assumed, mistook her for the newly constructed Mulberry Harbour. After the war, most of
Barsetshire
’s armament was removed and extra superstructure built in its place. The re-distribution of weights gave her plenty of living and class-room space and a capacity for rolling immoderately in quite moderate seas. She was therefore re-classified and re-commissioned as a Cadet Training Cruiser.

It was raining, gently but steadily, when the new cadets first saw
Barsetshire
lying alongside the dockyard wall. She was a depressing sight and her grey bulk in the rain, the dreary jetty littered with the bones and intestines of other ships, and the concealed fear of an unknown life ahead of them combined to chill the hearts of the newly-joining cadets.

If the cadets were not glad to see
Barsetshire
,
Barsetshire
was not glad to see them. The Junior Cadets were met by the Cadet of the Watch and the Bosun’s Mate standing, sodden and dripping, at the salute.

‘Buck up, you guys,’ pleaded the Cadet of the Watch. ‘I’m catching my death of pneumonia standing here.’

The Junior Cadets, sensing like new boys at school that it would not be wise to offend their seniors from the start, hurried on board and stood in a miserable huddle on the quarterdeck. In his haste Ted Maconochie accidentally trod on a red setter dog which had been inspecting the new cadets from the side of the quarterdeck. The dog gave a howl and flashed out of sight down a hatch.

‘
Look
, you fellows,’ said the Cadet of the Watch. ‘Thin out a bit, will you? Get
going
. You worry me. You bring back my horrible past. Hey Bluey!’

The Bosun’s Mate, who was already halfway towards the snugness of the quartermaster’s lobby, turned reluctantly.

‘Show the sprogs the messdecks, will you?’

‘O.K. Whacker.’ Bluey nodded to the cadets. ‘This way, you guys.’

Bluey led them forward and down a ladder to a large compartment. The deck of the compartment was covered with corticene of a depressing sickly green colour. Pipes, cables, trunkings and hammock bars ran overhead. Bare tables and benches were placed in rows on either side. A couple of Royal Marines looked morosely at the new cadets from a serving hatch. The atmosphere of the compartment was one of utility; it was plainly a space to be used and quitted as quickly as possible. It had the odour of Oliver Twist’s workhouse. It was not a room for the enjoyment of meals but a site for the eating of sufficient basic food for survival against a pitiless life. It was the Cadets’ Messdeck.

The problem of accommodating over 200 cadets in a limited space was solved by strict allocation. Every cadet was fitted into a niche, a cell in the honeycomb, from which he was not allowed to move.
Barsetshire
’s Chief G.I. met the cadets on the messdeck and organised their joining routine. He portioned them out into divisions, into classes, into watches, and into parts and subs of watches. He allotted them a gunroom in which to stow their books and instruments, a mess table at which to eat, a slinging billet for their hammocks, a chest for their clothes, and a bathroom to wash in. The Chief G.I. impressed on the cadets that they were not to stow their books, sling their hammocks, eat their meals, keep their clothes or wash themselves in any other place than that allotted to them. The Chief G.I. gave each cadet a ship’s book number, a gunroom number, a mess number, a slinging billet number, a chest number and a bathroom number to help him remember. Finally, each cadet was given a name tally which he pinned on his jersey so that any officer or petty officer could know his name without troubling to ask him.

‘All I need now is a suit covered in broad arrows and a pick for breaking stones,’ said Paul and straightaway learnt the first lesson of the Cadet Training Cruiser which was that idle jokes always recoiled on their author’s head. The Junior Cadets were ordered to shift into overalls, given hammers, and spent the afternoon chipping paintwork on the upper deck in the rain.

After tea the Juniors mustered on the messdeck for a speech of welcome by the Cadet Training Officer. They had heard that
Barsetshire
had a new Cadet Training Officer, a man keen on training, who had arrived with the intention of setting
Barsetshire
and its cadets to rights. The Juniors awaited his arrival with almost as much trepidation as they had awaited the arrival of The Bodger, long ago on their first evening at Dartmouth, although their anxiety was now tempered by the knowledge they had gained from Dartmouth, that nothing in the Navy would ever turn out to be as bad as it sounded in the speech of welcome.

The Cadet Training Officer’s arrival in
Barsetshire
was preceded by almost the same preliminaries as The Bodger’s had been at Dartmouth. The Chief G.I. first ran a disillusioned eye over the rows of cadets and reported to the Cadet Gunner, Mr Piles. Mr Piles then came and glanced round the messdeck, presumably to test the evidence of the Chief G.I.’s eyes, and went away to report to the Cadet Training Officer. A file of assistant training officers, divisional officers and instructor officers came in and sat down in the front row. After them came the new Cadet Training Officer; he was, unmistakably and without any shadow of doubt, The Bodger.