THE ROYAL NAVY LISTENS-IN

New Zealand Listener, Volume 2, Issue 45, 3 May 1940, Page 9

THE ROYAL NAVY LISTENS-IN

By

Bartimeus

[" Bartimeus" is the pen-name of Paymaster Captain L. A. da Costa Ricci, author of " Naval Occasions," "The Long Trick,’ and other wellknown books of the navy and the sea.] HE grey day had held the dusk’ in its lap so long that the coming of darkness was almost a relief. The ships of the convoy-indeterminate shadows strung out across the North Sea like a procession of maritime monsters wallowing forth from some gigantic Noah’s Ark-were swallowed by the night. Able Seaman Cowley, starboard look-out on the bridge of the escort ship that hung on the flank of the convoy, was not sorry to see the last of them. They interfered with his thoughts as long as they were visible, in ordered sequence and unchanging relative bearing. This was because, while one part of his brain was engaged through the medium of his eyes in keeping a look-out for periscopes, floating mines, surface raiders, wrecks, seaplanes, torpedoes and flotsam of all sorts, the other part was watching through the medium of his imagination the Everton football team play the Blackburn Rovers. If you ask me how he combined the latter with an efficient. performance of the former, I could not tell you. Neither do I insist on its efficiency, since on that particular afternoon neither periscopes, floating mines, surface raiders, wrecks, seaplanes, nor torpedoes happened to be in the path of the convoy. In His Imagination But the only object of flotsam encountered was duly observed and reported by Able Seaman Cowley s "Object Green Three O" and was identified as an empty tin that caught’ what light there was as it bobbed among the waves. He saw it because he was following the ball at the feet of the Everton centre-forward in that direction. He heard the roar of the crowd as he studied the tin through his glasses, saw the ball pass to the inside left, heard the dull thud of boot on leather as he shot, observed the fruitless plunge of the Blackburn goalkeeper, and heard the crowd’s roar swell to a tumult. All this, of course, in -his imagination, The ‘result of the match mattered more to Able Seaman Cowley than a. war with Germany because everybody knew Germany must. lose. Whereas with the Rovers, you couldn’t be sure. On the Mess Deck . His relief, muffled to the eyes, touched him. on the arm. He transferred the glasses to him and clattered down the ladders to the mess deck. In a few minutes he’d know whether Everton had pulled it off. ‘Tt was snug on the mess deck. There was a ‘pleasant aroma of tea and human warmth. The voice of the British radio announcer, proclaiming the news, dominated the mess deck, The watch that had just come off duty sat round ‘the. mess tables, tea mugs in their hands, still in oilskins and sea. boots. and stokehold overalls, listening intently. The football

fans sat with their pool papers in front of them, sucking anticipatory pencils. What Really Mattered Able Seaman Cowley did his best to be interested in the progress of the war. The perfectly modulated voice recorded the stormy passage of human history through a few more hours of time. There were gruff comments in undertones, ejaculations. Able Seaman Cowley waited with pulse quickening every minute. Everton — Blackburn Rovers. That’s what mattered. He pushed his cap back off his forehead and loosened the muffler round his neck. The perspiration was wet on_ his face. Everton — course they‘d win, on their form. But Blackburn Ne Ee well... . "’Nother cup of tea, Charlie?" The caterer pushed the tea pot over to him. The invitation passed unheeded. " Football Results." Ah! Now then! . sd The announcer reeled them off in an almost perfunctory tone, as if half ashamed of introducing football results in war time. Well, he didn’t live in any of those warring towns, maybe, or he’d have talked different. There were cheers and groans among the pool

wegen; the ship rolled steadily, The waves thumped against the ship’s side as Cowley’s heart thumped against his ribs. Everton 6, Blackburn Rovers 0. Able Seaman Cowley sprang to his feet and waved his cap aloft. "Good old Everton!" he shouted-*" Tha’s done it! Ah know tha’d do it, lads! OO-RAY! OO-RAY!" The man opposite, who wasn’t interested in football (on the other hand, he knew more about goldfish and their ailments than any man likely to be afloat that evening on the North Sea), and came from Jersey anyway, stared at him blankly."What’s up, Charlie? Won a packet, or what?" "Nay." Cowley subsided into his mess-stool again, feeling somewhat sheepish. "But ah coom from Everton, see?" * %* * $ Sees periscope of the British submarine broke the surface as cautiously as the nostrils of a breathing crocodile. Foot by foot it rose above the greenish yellow seas and revealed surf breaking against distant sand dunes. It searched sea and sky for a long time, the Lieutenant in command standing motionless in the control room, his brows hooded by the rubber eye-piece. "TI should have thought," he observed to the Coxswain, "that they would have preferred to get their heads down at two o’clock on a Sunday afternoon." "Tt was by request of the majority, sir,’ replied the Coxswain. "They don’t want to miss it." * , "O.K. by me. We'll take the opportunity to charge up at the same time. There doesn’t appear to be anything in sight. But warn them we are in enemy waters." a

The rust-streaked conning tower wallowed inte the sunlight, water streaming from the platform, Her Captain emerged, his glasses hanging by a strap round his neck. A telegraphist set the aerial and reported all correct. "All right," said the Lieutenant, "let ’em have it. I'll keep a look out." He sat smoking, steadying himself against the roll of the ship in the steep, choppy swell. Occasionally a wave broke against the base of the conning tower and threw a spatter of spray over him. A gull circled overhead, calling querulously at intervals, Sunday Afternoon Gardening The pleasant, reflective tones of the broadcaster came up the shaft, discoursing on pickling cabbage and Jerusalem artichokes. The Captain sat searching the horizon through his glasses while ‘he listened to a grumble of laughter at something about artichoke flowers at the North Pole; the next instant he was down through the hatch; had slammed and clipped it and was manipulating the complications of a crash» dive all within ten seconds. "Enemy seaplanes," he explained a little ss as they recovered their trim. % They would, wouldn’t they, them Prk Pes Nazis." The Second Coxswain, his eyes on a bubble in a glass tube, adjusted a wheel the fraction of a turn, "Would what?" inquired an E.R.A. "Go interrupting a gardening talk on a sae ih afternoon-"’ .