The First Day at Sableridge
Derek Daventry's arrival at Sableridge Marine Depot could hardly be
described as imposing. It might have been picturesque, or at least
bizarre.
Upon alighting at Fisherton Station he learnt on enquiry that
Sableridge was a good six miles by road, lying, as it did, at the
entrance to the extensive Fisherton Harbour. He waited for some time
at the railway station in the hope that one of the R.A.F.
motor-transport vehicles might put in an appearance. Thwarted in that
direction, he tried in vain for a taxi or even a "growler". Finally
he bargained with a sleepy youth in charge of a very ramshackle
wagonette, who, in consideration of a pecuniary largess of ten
shillings, condescended to drive the newly-joining officer to
Sableridge.
At a leisurely six miles an hour the wagonette set out on its
journey. Apart from the slow pace and the atrocious jolting, Derek
enjoyed the ride. Compared with the devastated fields and villages of
France the prospect looked entrancingly peaceful as the road wound
round the eastern side of the harbour. The tide was in. There was
little or no wind, so that the water had the appearance of a vast
lake, studded with islands, and backed by numerous hills that
culminated in a bold down of a height of six hundred feet or more.
Then a rise in the road brought him in sight of Sableridge, a long
peninsula of what appeared to be hummocks of drifting sand clothed in
places with coarse tufted grass. Almost every hillock bore an
architecturally picturesque house, while the red-tiled roofs of
others were visible in the hollows between the dunes. At the far end,
where the waters of Fisherton Harbour rush in at the rate of five
knots to meet the waters of the English Channel, was a large white
building. At no very distant date it had been a popular hotel; now,
as the White Ensign floating from the gaff of a tall flagstaff
indicated, it was a Government building--the Marine Depot of the
R.A.F.
Having reported, Derek was shown his quarters--a large, airy room on
the first floor with a balcony from which views of the greater part
of Fisherton Harbour could be obtained. This room, he found, he had
to share with another lieutenant.
Save for the latter's personal belongings, it was as bare as Mother
Hubbard's cupboard, the officers being in unfurnished quarters, for
which they drew the sum of half a crown a day.
His batman, having deposited Derek's kit-bag on the floor, enquired
whether he was to fetch the new arrival's equipment from the station;
to which Daventry had to reply that there was no more forthcoming at
present.
Left to himself, Derek took stock of his surroundings. The room
required but little attention, but the view without was enthralling.
It was during working hours. Motor-boats of all types and speeds were
running to and fro. "Skimmers", credited with a speed of fifty knots,
and "hydro-glisseurs", weird-looking contraptions consisting of six
floats lashed in pairs and driven by an aerial propeller, formed part
of the R.A.F. flotilla; while, in acute contrast to the mosquito-like
craft, there were two "drifters" lying at moorings and a third slowly
"chugging" her way against the tide. These craft, like their more
select sisters, bore the distinctive red, white, and blue circles of
the R. A. F.
Just beyond a little pier lay the "guard-ship", a subsidized coaster,
painted grey, and provided with a towering superstructure. She, too,
flew the White Ensign in her rôle of guardian of the port.
Then, in contrast to the war-time conditions, were the square-sterned
fishing-boats, mostly painted white and carrying tanned sails. Good,
wholesome, weatherly boats they were, manned by greybeards and
youths, who "carried on" while their respective sons and fathers were
patrolling in armed merchant-cruisers and drifters to frustrate
Fritz's knavish tricks.
"In peace-time I should be paying three or four guineas a week for
this room," thought Derek. "Now I'm being paid to occupy it, and am
about to have sea trips free, gratis, and for nothing. This is some
stunt."
At tea Derek was introduced to his new comrades. There were eleven
officers belonging to the permanent staff and fifteen others under
instruction. The latter were for the most part youngsters in point of
age, many of them joining up direct from school, but veterans in
point of war service. Most of them had been flying in the old
R.N.A.S. and R.F.C., and their joint record covered every battlefront
from Heligoland Bight to German West Africa, and from Mesopotamia to
beyond the Scillies--pilots who had faced death a hundred times and
had cheated the grim messenger by crashing and surviving. And now
they had exchanged the joy-stick for the wheel of a motor-launch and
the zest of flying for the equally exhilarating lift of the ocean.
The meal over, the crowd of junior officers adjourned to the
shore--the tide being low and the moon full--to play sand-cricket and
rounders until it was time to change for mess. The meal over, there
was a "liberty-boat" to the "beach"--the boat consisting of a
motor-lorry, while the beach was the term used to denote the
neighbouring seaside town of Coombeleigh.
"Ripping fine station!" commented Blair, Derek's room-mate. "I've
been in a few stations in my time, but this is the one. By Jove, if
things continue as they are going, we'll have a top-hole time! The
Colonel? He's one of the best, but I pity the fellow who slacks. Yes,
the C.O. expects a high standard, and he'll get it, or there'll be
trouble. An' the Major's absolutely 'it': couldn't wish for a better.
Of course we aren't in full working order yet. There are only half
the number of men here at present, and the majority of 'em are a
scratch lot. We've got to lick them into shape as seamen, and it's a
tough proposition, I can tell you. Got your bedding yet?"
"No," replied Derek. "I'll have to sleep rough to-night, but it won't
be the first time."
"I'll take you to the Stores Officer," continued Blair. "He'll fix
you up with bed-boards and some blankets. Give the batman a shout,
and tell him to bring the gear along."
In a very short space of time Derek's equipment was augmented by a
couple of trestles and three boards. These formed the bed. On that
were placed half a dozen blankets and a straw pillow--a Spartan
couch, but far better than many he had slept upon in damp and stuffy
dug-outs in France.
Hardly had Derek settled his scanty belongings when he was sent for
by the C.O. His first official task was to accompany the Colonel and
the Major to a large private house adjoining, which had recently been
commandeered for officers' quarters. The former occupiers--a lady and
her daughter--still remained in possession of a room in the basement.
The Colonel allotted the rooms, Derek's duty being to pin a cardboard
strip, bearing the various officers' names, on the doors. He was on
the point of completing the work when the late owner spoke to him.
"I quite understand," said she, "that my house is taken over by the
Royal Air Force; but would you give my compliments to the Colonel and
tell him that I must object to having one of my best rooms turned
into a wood and coal store."
Somewhat mystified, Derek asked to be shown the room referred to. He
hadn't the faintest recollection of any room being given over as a
fuel store.
"Oh, yes, I can show you," rejoined the lady. "Here you are."
She pointed to the door of a large room on the ground floor. On it
was written "Lieuts. Woods and Coles".
Admirably concealing his desire to smile Derek explained.
"I am so sorry," replied the evicted tenant apologetically. "I am
rather short-sighted. I quite thought it was 'Wood and Coals'."
Punctually at four bells Derek turned in, and, notwithstanding the
hardness of his plank-bed, he slept soundly, lulled by the murmur of
the surf upon the sand. It was the end of his first day of home
service in a new branch. To-morrow he was to start work in earnest as
a motor-boat officer of the Royal Air Force.