THE BEGINNING OF THE “REAL THING”
“MOBILISE!” On Saturday the 1st of August, the Captain, standing at
the main entrance to the College, opened the fateful telegram which
contained only that one momentous word. It had come at last! Our dreams
were realised: it was _war_! But—did _one_ of us I wonder even dimly
imagine the stern and terrible business that war would be?
The news reached me as I was leaning against the balcony of the
gymnasium talking to a friend after a bout at the punch-ball. A
dishevelled fifth-termer burst through the swing doors and shouted at
the top of his voice “Mobilise!”
At first all were incredulous. Murmurs of “Only a scare”—“I _don’t_
think!” etc., etc., rose on all sides; but, after the messenger had
kicked two or three junior cadets through the door with emphatic
injunctions to “get a move on _quick_”—the rest of us were convinced,
and we hurled ourselves out of the building and away to the College.
Already an excited crowd was surging through the grounds: some with
mouths still full from the canteen, others clutching cricket-pads and
bats, and yet others but half-dressed, with hair still dripping from
the swimming bath.
Masters and officers on motor bikes and “push” bikes were careering
over the surrounding country to recall the cadets who had gone out on
leave, and to commandeer every kind of vehicle capable of carrying the
big sea-chests down to the river.
In gun-room and dormitory clothes, books, and boots were thrown
pell-mell into these same chests, which, when crammed to their utmost
capacity, were closed with a series of bangs which rang out like the
sound of pistol shots. Perspiring cadets, with uniform thrown on
anyhow, dragged and pushed them through doors and passages with sublime
disregard of the damage to both.
Once outside willing hands loaded them into every conceivable vehicle,
from motor lorries to brewers’ drays, and these conveyed them post
haste to the pier, where they were loaded on the steamer _Mew_, and
ferried across the river to Kingswear Station.
For two hours the work of transportation went on, and then all cadets
turned to and strapped together such games, gear, and books as were to
be sent home.
At 5.30 every one fell in on the quarter-deck, and as each received his
pay went off to the mess-room to get something to eat before setting
out on the train journey. After this we all repaired to the gunner’s
office to telegraph to our homes that we were ordered away on active
service. My wire was as follows: “General mobilisation. Embarked
_H.M.S. ‘——,’_ Chatham. Will write at once”—and when received was
a terrible shock to my poor mother, who had not had the faintest idea
that we “first termers” would in any eventuality be sent to sea.
I belonged to the first, or Blake, term, which it will be remembered
was due to go to Chatham, and consequently ours was the first batch to
leave.
At 6.30 we “fell in” in two ranks outside the College, and our
messmates gave us a parting cheer as we marched off down to Dartmouth.
Here we had a sort of triumphal progress through crowds of cheering
townsfolk to the quay. Embarked on the _Mew_ we were quickly ferried
across to the station, where a long train was in waiting. Ten of
us, who had been appointed to the same ship, secured two carriages
adjoining one another, and then scrambled hurriedly to the bookstalls
for newspapers, magazines, and cigarettes. These secured, we took our
seats and shortly afterwards the train drew out of the station, and our
long journey had begun.
Thus it was that, three weeks before my fifteenth birthday, I went to
war!
The journey to Chatham was likely to be long and tedious. After all the
excitement of the last few hours a reaction soon set in and we longed
for sleep, so we settled ourselves as best we might on the floor, on
the seats, and even on the racks.
At first I shared a seat with another cadet, sitting feet to feet and
resting our backs against the windows; but this position did not prove
very conducive to slumber, and at 1 o’clock I changed places with the
boy in the rack. This was little better, for I found it awfully narrow,
and whenever I raised my head even an inch or two, _bump_ it went
against the ceiling of the carriage.
At 2 a.m. I changed round again and tried the floor, where I managed
to get an hour and a half’s broken sleep till 3.30, when we arrived at
Chatham.
Three-thirty a.m. is a horrid hour, chilly and shivery even on an
August night. The train drew up at a place where the lines ran along
the road close to the Royal Naval Barracks.
Yawning, and trying to rub the sleepiness out of our eyes, we proceeded
to drag our chests out of the luggage vans and pile them on the road,
while the officer in charge of us went to find out what arrangements
had been made for getting us to our ships.
In about twenty minutes he returned with another officer and informed
us that none of the ships in question were then at Chatham, and we
would have to stay at the barracks until further instructions were
received.
For the moment enthusiasm had vanished. We were tired and hungry,
and, after the perfection of clockwork routine to which we had been
accustomed, this “war” seemed a muddlesome business. However, there
was no good grousing. We left our chests in the road and proceeded to
the barracks, where we were provided with hammocks and told to spread
them in the gymnasium. This done, we took off our boots, coats, and
trousers and were soon fast asleep.
Of course, things looked a bit brighter in the morning—they always do.
We were called at 7.30, told to dress and wash in the washing-place
just outside the gym., and to lash up our hammocks and stow them away,
after which we would be shown the way to the officers’ mess.
Lashing up the hammocks was a job that took some time to accomplish,
since it was one in which none of us was particularly proficient, and,
moreover, there was no place to sling them. I eventually managed mine
by lashing the head to the wall bars while I got a friend to hold the
foot, which done, I performed the same office for him, and then we went
to the officers’ mess for breakfast. It was Sunday, so in the forenoon
we went to service in the Naval Chapel. Here we had to listen to a most
lugubrious sermon from a parson who seemed under the impression that
we should all be at the bottom of the sea within six months, and had
better prepare ourselves accordingly! Of the note, _Dulce et decorum
est pro patria mori_, which, however hackneyed, cannot fail to bring
courage to those setting out to battle, there was not the faintest
echo, so the whole thing was in no wise calculated to raise our spirits.
This depressing episode ended, we fell in outside the barracks and were
marched off to lunch.
We spent the afternoon exploring the vicinity, and I, with two friends,
climbed up to the roof of a sort of tower, where we indulged in
forbidden but soothing cigarettes.
That night we again slept in the gym., and next morning we were
considerably annoyed to find that we should not be allowed to take our
chests to sea. We were given canvas kit-bags, into which we had to cram
as many necessaries as they would hold; but they certainly seemed, and
eventually proved to be, most inadequate provision for a naval campaign
of indefinite length, conducted in climatic conditions varying from
tropical to semi-arctic.
The rest of that day was uneventful and rather boring. We wrote
letters home and indulged in more surreptitious smoking: the latter
with somewhat disastrous results, for one of our number having rashly
embarked on a pipe, was speedily overtaken by rebellion from within,
and further, our Lieutenant, having detected us in this breach of Naval
Regulations, threatened us with the direst penalties if we did not mend
our ways.
Bright and early next morning (Tuesday the 4th of August) we were
informed that half our number were to proceed to Devonport to join our
ships; so at 9 o’clock we marched down to the station to set out on yet
another long and weary train-journey. We had to change at Paddington,
and arrived at Devonport at 4 o’clock in the afternoon, considerably
bucked up by the thought that at last we should be in real war-ships,
and, as genuine, though _very_ junior, officers of His Majesty’s Navy,
be privileged to play our small part in what, even then, we dimly
realised would be the greatest war in the history of our nation.
From the station we marched through the town and embarked on an
Admiralty tug, which took us to the various ships to which we had
been appointed. Our batch was the last to reach its destination, but
eventually the tug drew alongside the gangway of _H.M.S.“——”_ and was
secured there by ropes.