Jimmy

Dark clammy fog clung upon the horizon. White crested waves made an occasional appearance beneath the cottony clouds, the translucent green sea contrasting with the dark green under the cloud cover. Beneath the sea plane an imaginary spider’s web upon which she navigated the North Sea; looking for U-boats.

The naval pilot scanned the ocean surface. Putting mouth to speaking tube he blew upon the whistle section in order to gain the attention of his observer in the forward cockpit .The observer turned, the startled expression in his blue eyes showing through the goggles, the flapping of the straps of the leather helmet heightening the aura of panic. As he craned his neck in order to search sky and sea wisps of blond hair stuck out from under the helmet.

"Turn east on the next strand of the spider web", shouted the pilot. Again the look signifying a lack of comprehension, the human voice unable to compete with the huge engines situated between the overhead double wings blatting into the frigid air. Taking hands from yoke the pilot improvises a type of semaphore , his knees holding the joystick as he does so . The observer raises a sheepskin lined leather glove, thumb extended.

The Felixstowe flying boat (an improvement on the American Curtis) pulls effortlessly towards the Faeroe Islands, the port wing pointing toward a sea glistening red and gold. Rays of sunshine coming from above the clouds reflect off the bright red , white and blue roundel on the dull ‘regulation green’, doped wing .In large white letters on the top of the wing the initials of the Royal Naval Air Service:R.N.A.S.

To the north a flag officer looks over the shoulder of a wireless operator as the operator jots down the incoming Morse, the cramped cabin an oasis of privacy on the seaplane tender allowing for a strange silence in between the pinging of the Morse or the tapping of the key. The flag officer snatches the finished message from the hands of the rating, bounds out of the cabin, runs along the outer cat walk and upon reaching the companion way leading to the bridge makes a flying leap over the first three steps. He passes a startled signaler standing behind his aldis lamp, his flat sailors hat giving him an unnaturally square aspect against the darkening sky. As he lifts his chin out of his dark blue duffel coat he gives him an inquiring look, as if to say :‘what message do you want me to make, and to whom.’

Entering the bridge, he is confronted by the second in command ; Jimmy in naval vernacular. Jimmy stared out the forward windscreen into the mist .He has a narrow face containing thinly defined eyebrows which arced upwards as he turned towards the flag officer. He read the message, his mouth curling downwards into a strange smile as he did so, finger pointed towards the door .With a loud bang of the door the flag officer walked off the bridge area, a look of indignation on his face.

The Bridge emitted the warm smell of linseed oil and mahogany, oil and machinery .There is a periodic juddering as the vibration from the steam engines works its way down the length of the ship. Small beads of condensation form on the white bulkhead .Wiping the sweat forming above his eyebrows he glanced at the binnacle heading illuminated with a faint white glow, the black card moving gently and evenly in the mercury. ‘North, north east, good’ he muttered. The helmsman, in a Lancashire accent dripping the sweet noxious fumes of the industrial revolution answered somewhat perplexed.

"Beg your pardon sir."

"--- just talking to my self"he answered.