Jimmy

All of that day the first officer remained upon the bridge, his only meal a biscuit and the mug of tea placed by the steward, the white waistcoat showing beneath the naval duffel coat his only link with his P.and O.past and the long leisurely cruises through the Med, Suez and into the glassy heat of the Red Sea.

At four o-clock Captain Crawford entered as he engaged upon one of his innumerable spot inspection tours.

"Anything wrong number one"? he inquired ,slightly perplexed that one could be upon the bridge and at the same time be off duty, his seaman’s mind long conditioned to the four off and four on routine.

"Nothing wrong sir, its just that I would like to spend some of my off watch time here."

The Captain digested the information in a thoughtful manner.

"I realize that we are in the middle of a war number one and that routine sometimes goes by the board, both ashore and afloat I might add, and that we all have are problems, why my own wife has asked me if I would look out for Noddy, I ask you what am I supposed to do, dock the ship at Calais, go ashore and ask for the C.O. of the Guards division, ask him how good old Noddy is and then when I have found him go have a Father to Son chat, you know, ask him how he is he getting along"?

Slits of pale blue looked at the first officer sideways, a nervous flitting of the tongue in order to lick the bottom of the blond moustache, the first officer continuing his non committal stare out the windscreen in to the heaving mass of green ocean. Glaring furiously into the overcast Crawford barked, "there will be no flying tomorrow either if this weather keeps up" as he exited with a loud bang of the door.

The days stretch into weeks. The vigil continued. The crew became accustomed to the strange behavior of Jimmy. On one such day great cumulus nimbus clouds obscured the horizon, above the clouds two dark blimps , their great bulk somewhat reduced by the quartering angle thus presenting nearly perfect twin circles, so close as to give a view of released water ballast raining down in a fine multihued rainbow .He glanced at the helmsman .He is absorbed in gauging the rise and the fall of bow and wave as he attempts to keep the ship on a steady heading, his eagle eye focused solely upon the binnacle.

In the area adjacent the Belgium coast a triangle of bases consisting of: Bruges, Ostend and Zeebruge. Great activity was being reported. Felixstowe flying boats from Scapa Flow were in constant contact with enemy shipping .U boats were suspected of being in the northern area, the flying boats forcing them to remain submerged. A Hansa- Brandenburg seaplane fighter had forced a Felixstowe in to the sea which had never the less somehow managed to rejoin its tender. The increased sub activity to the north had greatly perturbed the admiralty. Raids were now conducted upon the inland bases connected by the Bruges Canal .A flotilla of aircraft carriers comprising of the Furious and the Vindex joined in the effort, their land planes more suited to rough weather operations.

As the aircraft roar off both water and deck the first officer lay upon his bunk, hands behind head, polished dress shoes upon the wooden retaining board .To his left sitting on the impossibly small writing table below the open port hole, the white topped hat of Royal Naval.Volunteer Reserve. A clattering outside as hobnailed boots echo against the narrow passageway .A smash upon the door which, seemingly of its own volition, swings inwards. A petty officer steps over the sill to be followed by two ratings, their white gaiters and web belts contrasting with the dark blue uniforms. A much louder crashing sound as the boots collide with the steel deck plating.