Sounds from another room

SOUNDSFROMANOTHERROOM


SOUNDSFROM
ANOTHERROOM
by
PETERHORSLEY


FirstpublishedinGreatBritainin1997by
LEOCOOPER
animprintof
Pen&SwordBooksLtd
47ChurchStreet
Barnsley
SouthYorkshire
S702AS
©PeterHorsley
ISBN0850525810
Acataloguerecordforthisbookis
availablefromtheBritishLibrary
PrintedinEnglandbyRedwoodBooks,Trowbridge,Wiltshire


To
ANNIE
MyLong-SufferingWife


Contents

Acknowledgements
Foreword
1. TheClinic
2. AMiserableStart
3. EscapetoSea
4. TheRoyalAirForce
5. BeforeTheStorm
6. TheStorm
7. Voices
8. TheRoadAhead
9. AStatelyRoom
10. Visitors
11. TheCorridorsofPower
12. CaughtinaWeb
13. TheBeginningoftheEnd
Index


Acknowledgements
The author wishes to acknowledge the help of his wife, Annie, with the editing; his
secretary,MaryChurcher,forallthemanyhoursoftyping;LeoCooperofPen&Sword
Books Limited for all his kindness and patience; Sir Ranulph Fiennes and Bloomsbury
Publishing Limited for their generous agreement for the use of the extract from The
FeatherMen;ThisEnglandMagazinefortheirpermissiontoreproducethepoembyJohn
Magee; David Higham Associates for permission to publish John Pudney’s poem
‘Breakfast’,andfinallyhisluckystarsforhavinglivedthroughitall.


Foreword

Long introductions are tedious to reader and writer alike so this Foreword is short. My
story is not the traditional saga of some minor military figure; it recounts a number of
separateevents,eachtrueandofsuchintensityatthetimethattheyalteredthepatternof
mylifethereafter,likecoralpolypsshapingareef.
IliketocompareittoahousewhosemainroomsaretheeventsIshalldescribeandthe
corridorsbetweenbutthepassageoftime.Theroomsthemselvesareofsuchvarietythey
mighthavebeendesignedbydifferentarchitectsandwitheachfurnishedinthestyleofits
immediatetenants.
Thereisamysteryaboutthehouse,foronoccasionstherewouldappeartobeahouse
withinahouse,onelivinginthepresent,theotherinaparalleltimeanddimension.The
whispersandsoundsoftheotheroccupantssometimesbreakthroughfromtherecessesof
a distant and unknown room, though message and messengers remain tantalizingly
elusive.
Both style and time may at times seem confusing but there is a reason for this.
Orphaned early, I was a lonely child, often thrown back on my own resources and
imagination. With no one close enough to whom I could reveal my innermost secrets, I
became a compulsive scribbler, and remain one. So the book is a mixture of what I
actually wrote at the time and what I have written since, from diaries and notes. For
example,myschooldiariesarewrittenexactlyastheywereatthetimeand‘TheStorm’
waswrittenshortlyaftertheevent.
JusttenyearsagoIwasinvolvedinaveryseriousaccidentwhich,atthetime,seemed
to have been caused by some quite inexplicable malfunction of my car. As I lay at the
roadside,notfarfromdeath,thewholestoryofmylifepassedinfrontofme,likeafilm
thatwasmadlyoutofcontrol.
AmostremarkableexplanationofthecauseofthataccidentwaslaterprovidedbySir
RanulphFiennesinhisbookTheFeatherMen.ItappearsthatIwastheinnocenttoolofa
terroristgangwhohaddecidedtousemycarasamurderweapon.Aformerofficerinthe
SpecialAirService,SirRanulphisveryfamiliarwiththeshadowyworldofterrorismand
I have no reason to challenge the facts as he gives them, even though several questions
remain unanswered. As it was this extraordinary and devastating experience which

triggeredtheideabehindthisbookofmine,hehasverykindlyallowedmetoreproduce
thatstoryasmyopeningchapter.


1

TheClinic*
Ithappenedalongtimeagoinafaroffdesertcountry.ThefoursonsofSheikAmarBin
IssawerekilledinanambushintheSouthYemenbyBritishforces.TheSheiksworean
oathofrevengeonhissons’killers.
‘TheClinic’wereaEuropeangangofruthlesshiredassassinswhobandedtogetherto
kill for money. The Sheik finally met the leader of the gang in Dubai and took out a
contractonhissons’killers–amilliondollarsdownpayment,andafurthermilliondollars
foreachoffourfilmsprovingtheassassinations;onestipulationofthecontractwasthat
the deaths were to appear accidental, arousing no suspicions of murder in the minds of
relationsorfriends.
‘TheFeatherMen’wereaBritishgroup–featherbecausetheirtouchwaslight.They
took into their grasp crimes which were beyond the powers of the ordinary police. The
Feather Men relentlessly pursued the IRA in Northern Ireland, moving silently against
thosememberswhohadescapedthehandsofthelawthroughlackofevidence.Theyalso
tookundertheirwingthefamiliesoftheSAS[SpecialAirService]andestablishedabody
of watchdogs to look after their interests. The Feather Men were controlled by a
committee† of senior establishment figures under the chairmanship of Colonel Tommy
Macintosh.
So far the Clinic had fulfilled half their contract by ‘arranging’ the deaths of
Superintendent John Milling, a former Marine, and a police officer in the Omani Police
Air Wing in a helicopter ‘air accident’ by tampering with the pilot’s collective control
lever. After an unequal aerodynamic battle, the helicopter plunged into the sea, killing
John Milling. They had then settled the fate of Major Mike Kealy, Special Air Service,
whodiedof‘exposure’inaclimbingaccidentintheBreconBeacons.Hewasleadinga

batchofSAStraineesonaforcedmarchinatrociousweatherconditionswhenhebecame
separatedfromhischarges.Kealywasthenambushedbythegangwhodruggedhimand
lefthimtodieonthemountaininthecoldandswirlingfog.Laterontheywoulddealwith
Corporal‘Mac’,thelastofthefour,andevenattackedRanulphFienneshimselfcloseto
hisExmoorFarm.HewasonlyrescuedbytheinterventionoftheFeatherMenwhohad
beenwatchingthegangastheycircledhisfarm.
TheClinicnowturnedtheirattentiontoMajorMichaelMarman.Theyhadbrokeninto
Marman’s Clapham home while he was out shopping and had photographed his diary.
Duringtheirescape,however,theywererecognizedbyamemberoftheFeatherMenwho
hadbeenwatchingtheirunlawfulactivitiesforsometime.MikeMarmanwasimmediately
warnedthathewasontheClinic’shitlistasaformermemberoftheSultanofOman’s
Armed Forces. The Feather Men meanwhile arranged for John Smythe, an active
watchdog, and a team of local volunteers to mount a round-the-clock surveillance of
Marman.
The Clinic had then to decide how to dispose of Major Marman. After considerable
argumentbetweenmembersofthegang,itwasdecidedtodispatchhiminaroadaccident.
Meier, the technical member, had already perfected the ‘Boston brakes’ method in


America.Thisinvolvedfittingasophisticateddevicetothebrakesofaleadcar,controlled
by radio from a following car and steering it into the victim’s vehicle travelling in the
opposite direction. It had worked before in the States and Meier saw no reason why it
shouldnotworkagain.
WhileMeier’stechnicalskillwasundeniable,thegangrecruitedanothermember,Jake,
ageniuswithcarsandunethicaldevices.ThegangleasedanolddisusedairstripinKent
andbegantoassemblethenecessarytoolsandequipmenttomodifythebrakesofthelead
car.Theplanbegantotakeshape.First,Marmanhadtobecaughtaloneonanopenroad.
‘Itislucky,’saidMeier,‘thatMarman’scarisaverysmallCitroen2CVwhichwillcrack
openlikeaneggwhenitishit.’Adaywellaheadwaschosen,afterastudyofMarman’s
diary and maps, Tuesday, 11 November, when Marman was due to visit an old friend,

GeneralRobinBrockbank,atSteepleLangfordinWiltshire.‘Heshouldbedrivingback
afterlunchalongtheA303atabout3.15pmintimetoreachhishouseinClaphamjust
beforedark.Ifweallowhimanaveragespeedoffifty-fivemilesperhour,hewillbe,’said
Meier pointing to the map, ‘somewhere along this dual carriageway between
Winterbourne Stoke and Popham. If this plan does not work the first time, we will
continuetolookforasuitabletimeandplaceuntilitdoes.’
‘Allweneednow,’Meiercontinued,‘istofindadriverwhoisscheduledtoheadwest
onthatsamestretchatabout3.30p.m.–thatshouldnotbetoodifficult,sincetheA303is
the main arterial road between London and Plymouth. What sort of person uses that
route?’ Meier asked and then answered the question himself, ‘A representative of a
companywithofficesinbothplaces.’‘Doyouremember,’Meierwenton‘thatHovercraft
weboughtfromMLSlingsbylastyearforthatsmugglingjob?Ihavediscoveredthatthe
Holding Company owns a subsidiary, M L Engineering, in Plymouth and after a lot of
research, I have also found out that M L Holdings are having a main board meeting in
Plymouth on the morning of 12 November. I have looked at a number of alternative
companies and for one reason or another have discounted them. Here is a list of four
nonexecutive directors who will attend the meeting. I have picked out the most likely
candidate,SirPeterHorsley,wholivesatHoughton,nearStockbridge,andislikelytouse
theA303onhisjourneytoPlymouth,soJakeandIwillpayhimalittlevisit.’
ShortlyafterthismeetingJakeandMeierquietlybrokeintoSirPeter’sofficeabovea
garageclosetothehouseinthedeadofnight.Theyfoundhisdiaryopenonhisdeskand
ittookonlyafewminutestophotographtherelevantpagesbeforetheyleftagain,making
surethattherewerenotracesoftheirvisit.Onthewayouttheypassedanopengarage.
TheywentinandfoundalargesalooncarandJakemadeaquickinspectionofit,aBMW
728iautomatic,registration3545PH,MichelinXVtyres.Thiswasundoubtedlytheideal
carfortheirpurposes.
Thetworeturnedtothedisusedairstripandthenextdaytheypurchasedasecond-hand
BMW728iandtwotargetpracticecars;JakefittedthecontrolsystemtotheBMWand
rehearsalsbeganinearnest.ItwasdecidedthatMeierandJakeshouldfollowtheBMW
andDeVilliers,anothermemberofthegang,wouldfollowMarman’s2CV.Allwasnow

set.Theyperfectedtheequipmentandproceduresjusttwodaysbeforethetargetdate.
OnthenightofMonday,10November,fivemembersofthegangassembledoutsideSir
Peter’s secluded Victorian house in the village of Houghton. Three remained on watch


while Jake and Meier began the work of fixing the apparatus to the BMW’s braking
system,makingsurethatitcouldbeeasilydetachedaftertheaccident.Ittookalittletime
buteventuallytheyweresatisfiedwiththeirwork.Meierknewfromexperiencethatonce
hehadtakenoverthecontrolofHorsley’scar,hecouldsteeritashepleased.IfHorsley
survivedthecrash,allhecouldsaywasthathiscarhadnotobeyedhissteeringinstruction
andhadgoneoutofcontrol;hewouldhavenoreasontosuspectthathisbrakeshadbeen
tamperedwith.
MeierandJakepositionedthemselvesinthelaneoutsideHorsley’shouseonTuesday
morning ready to follow him when he left for Plymouth. Their victim came out of his
houseatexactly2.30p.m.and,unawareofthedramatobeplayedahead,gotintohiscar
and drove away. Meier and Jake slotted in behind him at a comfortable distance and
followedhimdiscreetlyontotheA303.
Smythe,whohadfollowedMarmantoSteepleLangfordandthen,afterlunch,downthe
A303,soonbecameawareofawhiteFordEscortdrivenbyDeVilliersthatsiphonedin
behind Marman’s small Citroen. Before Meier and Jake reached the Amesbury
roundabout, the voice of De Villiers broke in on the CB radio: ‘2CV making a steady
seventymilesperhour.HasjustpassedtheA360turn-off.’Meierconsultedthecalculator
and reckoned that Marman would be driving down the dual carriageway in about three
minutes. The Volvo accelerated to a position just behind Horsley and Meier turned his
specialradioequipmenttothe‘on’position.DeVilliers’voicecameoveragain.‘Onecar
behind me otherwise clear ahead. Activate the brake device any time now.’ Meier took
overHorsley’scarandthegyrationsbegan;hesteeredtheBMWacrossthecentreofthe
reservation into the path of Marman’s approaching car and then accelerated past the
disappearingBMW.Jakepulledupaboutfivehundredyardsfurtheronandtheybothgot
out of the Volvo in time to see the death throes of the two cars. They then drove off to

maketherendezvousinAndoverwithDeVilliers.
DeVilliershadinthemeantimewatchedHorsleybeingtakenoffintheambulanceand
waitedforthetwowreckedcarstobetransportedtoagarageclosetoAmesburybefore
drivingontoAndovertomeettherestofthegang.ThatnighttwomembersofTheClinic
brokeintothegarageandquicklyremovedalltheapparatusfromHorsley’scar.
Thepolicearrivedthefollowingmorningandtheirlimitedinspectionsrevealednothing
technically wrong with either of the two cars. They did not have the slightest suspicion
thattheyhadbeenduped.
*ThischapteristakenfromTheFeatherMenbyRanulphFiennes(BloomsburyPublishingLimited)
†ItwasthiscommitteethatapproachedRanulphFiennestowritetheirstory.


2

AMiserableStart
OnenteringthefrontdoorofmyhouseI
wasfacedbythehall,darkandthreatening
withoddpiecesoffurniturescattered
aroundinanappallingmuddle.
Iwasbornin1921inoneofthegranderhousesinWestHartlepooltoawealthyfamilyof
timber merchants and ship owners. West Hartlepool may not be very well known today
butahundredyearsagoitwasatownofsomeimportance.Durhamwasoncedescribedas
alumpofcoalwithamillionandahalfpeopleclingingtoit;inthelastcenturytherewere
onehundredandfiftypitsandfifty-eightironoreworksandblastfurnacesinthecounty.
Allthisindustryrequiredconstruction,communicationsandalargeporttosupportit.My
familyexploitedallthreewithtimbertopropupthecoalfacesandshipstocarrythecoal
throughtheportofWestHartlepool.
Myforebearswereseafarerswhointhedriveoftheindustrialrevolutionbecameearly
entrepreneurs. The school song of the Royal Grammar School at Newcastle-upon-Tyne
recordstheirrise:

Horsley,amerchant-venturerbold
OfgoodNorthumbrianstrain,
Foundedourrule,andbuiltourSchool
InbluffKingHarry’sreign;
Longshallhisnameoldtimedefy,
Likethecastlegrimthatstands
Four-squaretoev’rywindthatblows
InourstormyNorthernlands.
‘Fortiterdefendittriumphans.’

Myparentslivedthelifeoftheveryrichwithcars,servantsandlongboutsoftravellingin
theMiddleEastandEurope.Inbetweentimesmymothermanagedtobearsevenchildren
beginning with my eldest brother, Terence, in 1904 and finishing off with myself, as an
afterthought, in 1921. We were reared almost exclusively by Nanny Thomas, a lady of
great loyalty, authority and affection, aided by a succession of governesses and nursery
maids,andonlyparadedbeforemyparentsonspecialoccasions.
My father was a junior partner in the family business; he was a fine athlete and
sportsman,acompetentpainterandauthorofseveraltravelbooks.Mymotherwasatall,
handsomewomanofconsiderableartisticandmusicalabilityandanaccomplishedangler
as well. They must have made a striking couple as they travelled around the world,
talentedandrich.Ihavewrittenthisinnospiritofboastfulnessbutrathertogivesome
yardstickagainstwhichtomeasurethedepthsoftheblackholethatawaitedme.
DuringtheGreatWarthefamilyfortunesgrew,sustainedbyGovernmentcontractsfor
pit props and ships. Whether it was the excitement of the war or the ambitions of a
younger son to prove that he was as good a businessman or better than his elders, my


father began to speculate in a number of risky ventures. Like so many speculators both
beforeandsince,hedidnotneedthemoney,asthefamilybusinessprovidedmorethan
enoughtosustaintheirsubstantiallifestyle.

***
I was christened Beresford Peter Torrington. My given names provided a source of
embarrassment for the rest of my life; they certainly did not match my subsequent
poverty-strickenyouth.FromthetimeIwasabletoimpressmywilluponothersIinsisted
on the Christian name of Peter. Unfortunately, institutions require knowledge of such
namessothatattheDragonSchool,mypreparatoryschoolinOxford,Iwasatfirstcalled
Beresford,shortenedtoBerry,untilIfoughtmywaybacktoPeteragain.Thislasteduntil,
yearslater,theAirMinistrypubliclyannouncedtheappointmentasEquerrytoHRHThe
Princess Elizabeth and Duke of Edinburgh of Flight Lieutenant Beresford Horsley;
althoughmyfriendsstillcalledmePeter,theBeresfordstuckwithmelikealeechuntilI
leftthePalaceasaWingCommandersomeyearslater.Thefinalinjurywasinflictedwhen
I was knighted and asked whether I wished to be dubbed Sir Beresford. This brought a
lovelythought–‘BadSirBeresford’–butIgrimlystucktoPeter.
***
Theinevitablecrashoccurredin1922whenthewholefamilyedificecollapsed.Myeldest
brother,Terence,returningfromRugbySchoolfoundmyfatherinthestablesattheback
of our house, dead from a gunshot wound. He was still only forty-two. My earliest
memories were of family discord and insecurity. Unpleasant events occurred to which I
wasnotparty,yetIwasawareofthegreatunhappinesstheycausedtothoseclosesttome.
It seemed at the time that everything I cared for or trusted was removed. Following the
crash, the elders of our tribe closed ranks and bought off any scandal by settling my
father’shugedebts.Thegunshotwoundwasputdowntoanaccident.Thecarsweresold
andtheservants,exceptforNanny,weredismissed.TerencewasmadetoleaveRugbybut
therestofmybrotherswereallowedtostayonattheirpublicschools.Thefamilywere
paid off with an allowance of two thousand pounds per year, a generous sum in those
days,providedthatweallleftWestHartlepool,nevertoreturn.
A small suburban house was purchased in Newcastle-upon-Tyne and we all crowded
into it, my mother by this time a sick woman, whose unhappiness had pushed her into
drinking too much, together with Nanny, four large and boisterous boys, two girls and
finallyasmallboy,myself.44SandersonRoadwasatall,narrowterracehousenexttoa

vicarageintheveryrespectablebackwatersuburbofNewcastlecalledJesmond.Thevicar
andourimmediateneighboursmusthavebeenastonishedatthearrivalofourcircusina
fleetoftaxis,deliveringalltheaboveplusthreePekineseandagreatassortmentofboxes
andtrunks(mymothercouldnevergetoutofthehabitoftravellinginthegrandstyle).
The house was furnished with pieces salvaged from the past which were totally out of
placeinsuchsurroundings.
Bynowmymotherseldomleftherbedexcepttobetakenouttwoorthreetimesaweek
inanover-sizedbathchairwheeledbyahiredman.Ilookedforwardtotheseexcursions
andcanstillsavourtheexquisitescentofmymother’sexpensivefurs.Onsuchoccasions
Iwasplacedinthefootofthebathchaironafurrug,curledupwiththethreePekinese


who from time to time would jump out and lap the chair, yapping and barking, before
jumping back on again. Thus this extraordinary procession proceeded down Sanderson
Road into Acorn Road with its few shops, watched by many curious eyes from behind
their suburban curtains; it is little wonder that parents would not allow their children to
playwithme,andourhousewasofflimitstothem.
Thewoodengarage,attherearofthehouseandbackingontoalane,containedalarge
squareuprightAustin.Thiswasonlywheeledoutonceayear,forourannualholidayat
theseaside.Ibelievethisannualoutingwasanimportantsymboltomymotherofherwill
to keep us together as a family. A house was rented on the front at Cullercoats, a small
fishingvillagebetweenTynemouthandWhitleyBay.
The Austin was packed with every conceivable item of luggage, and together with
bodiesandanimalswesetoffwithmyself,NannyandthePekineseinthefrontseatand
mymotherdriving.Theshortjourneytothecoastwasextremelyhazardous,accompanied
by the shouts of irate motorists and gesticulating pedestrians, as my mother had only a
veryrudimentaryideaofthegearsandbrakesandabsolutelynoideawhateveroftherules
oftheroad.Fortunately,shewascompletelyoblivioustotrafficlights.
These holidays were my most treasured memories. Paddling with Nanny in the
shallows,donkeyridesatTyne-mouth,chippinglimpetsoffthesideofthequayforbait,

followed by delicious fishing expeditions in a brightly coloured boat hired for the
afternoon, baiting hooks, and the excitement of pulling in the struggling mackerel and
whiting.
ShortlyafterarrivinginJesmondIwasintroducedintothelocalconventschool.Wellgroomedanddressedinasailorsuitwhichmymotherthoughtpropertotheoccasion,I
wasescorteddailytothisestablishmentattheendofOsborneRoad.InthisgarbIbecame
a figure of great merriment to the other children, but soon earned their respect and
admirationbyconcealingwhitemiceundermyamplenauticalcollar.Thiswouldfinally
causemyrapidexpulsionwhenonedaythemice,nowswolleninnumbers,jumpedship
andsoonhadthenunsscuttlingaboutclutchingtheirskirts,shriekingandseekingrefuge
onchairsanddesks.MysailorsuitwasthankfullyconsignedtothedustbinandIwassent
insteadtoasmalldayschoolcalledAckhurstswherethedisciplineandsupervisionwerea
gooddealstricter.
Thisperiodoforderandcontentmentwasnottocontinueforverylongbeforemyfirst
prop was knocked away; Nanny, who had been with the family for over twenty years,
suddenly departed. She was there one minute and gone the next. Whether her departure
wasduetoalackofmoneyoraclashwithmymotherIneverlearned,althoughIsuspect
the latter since in West Hartlepool Nanny had been used to her own establishment,
whereasinSandersonRoadtherewasonlyovercrowding.
Atanyrate,shewenttoworkforanotherfineoldfamilyfromourpast,thePlacesof
Northallerton.OccasionallyIwaspermittedtogoandvisitherandwassoonmadeaware
ofthedifferenceinmystatus.Irarelysawtheparents,onlyNanny,thechildrenandthe
servants;duringthesevisitsIwastreatedwithkindnessandputsomewhereinthemiddle
ofthenurseryhierarchy–belowthechildrenofthehousebutabovetheservants;thiswas
myfirstintroductiontothesocialpeckingorderandIlearnedthemeaningofpride.


***
Iwasnearlysixwhenthesecondandmainpropinmylifefollowedthefirstandtheroof
cavedin.OneearlymorningIwaswokenupbymyeldestbrotherandtoldthatinsteadof
goingtoschoolthatdayIwastogoandstayatWhittonGrange,afamilyfriend’scountry

house at Rothbury. No. 44 Sanderson Road was uncannily quiet and I had a dreadful
feelingofforeboding,althoughatthesametimegladlyacceptingtheofferoftruancyfrom
school. When the Watsons’ car and chauffeur arrived, I asked to say goodbye to my
motherbutwastoldshewastoosicktoseeme.Ihadnotseenverymuchofherrecently
sinceshehadprogressivelyspentmoretimeinbedandlessinherbathchair.
SometendayslaterIwasreturnedtoSandersonRoadbythesamechauffeur-drivencar
tobeinformedthatmymotherhadgoneawaytostaywithNannyanditwaslefttothe
boynextdoortotellmethebrutaltruthashestuckhistongueoutandshoutedoverthe
wall,‘Yah,yourMum’sdead.’Noneofmyfamilyeverreferredtoheragain,howshedied
orwhereshewasburied,andIneverasked.WhileIhadNannyandmymotheralivethe
otheroccupantsofthehousewererathershadowyfigures;withherdeath,theybeganto
focusmuchmoresharply.
Suddenly my eldest brother, Terence, became the dominant figure in the household.
Whilemymotherlived,thefamilysomehowheldtogetherasaunit,butonherdeathall
restrictions were removed and we reverted to becoming individuals – Terence, the three
boys aged twenty-four, twenty-one and nineteeen respectively, my sisters aged thirteen
and ten and, well down the pecking order, my six-year-old self. The boys were big,
boisterousandstrong,sothehousebecameabattlegroundforthebestbed,thefirstbath
and the final piece of toast at breakfast. The house itself changed character. My mother
had had her own bedroom and the drawing room next door as her sitting room, and
Terence,nowverymuchheadofthefamilyoccupiedalargestudyonthegroundfloor.All
therestofus,includingNanny,hadseemedtofitinquitecomfortablyintheremaining
space.Strangelyenough,whenmymotherdiedthehouseseemedtogetsmallerandthere
was less rather than more room – possibly because, with the restrictions removed, my
brothersandsistersbegantofillthehousewiththeirfriends.
Myeldestsisterattemptedtomanagethehousekeepingwithanimpressiveportfolioof
envelopesallmarkedwiththeappropriatetradesman–greengrocer,butcherandsoforth
andmoneywasswitchedfromonetotheotheraccordingtotheparticularcrisisoftheday
andsubstitutedwithpaperIOUs.Ineverfailedtobeimpressedbythisfirstintroductionto
high finance. She was aided in looking after the house by a succession of hard-faced

housekeepers,paidonlyenoughtobecivilbutnotenoughtostopthemterrorizingasmall
boy if the occasion arose. According to the state of the envelopes we sometimes had a
living-inmaidaswell.
***
YearsafterwardsIbegantocomprehendmyeldestbrother’sdifficulties.Onmyfather’s
death he had been forced to leave Rugby and assume his position as male head of the
familyunderextremelyunpleasantcircumstances,salvagingwhathecouldfromthemess
and finally moving us from West Hartlepool to Newcastle while the rest of his brothers
continued their education. With the death of our mother, he was really thrown in at the


deependatanagewhenallhisenergiesshouldhavebeendirectedintohisowncareerand
interests.Hewaspre-castintherôleofvillain,arôlewhichhefilledverysuccessfully.
Althoughwealllivedinthesamehouse,Terencemanagedtoisolatehimselffromthe
day-to-day problems and the study became his private domain from which he ruled
autocratically.Myotherbrothersandsisterswere,nodoubt,unrulyandwithouthimthere
would have been no discipline at all; even with him, there was not very much. People
cameinandoutofthehouseatwill,andmealswereirregular;toanoutsideritmusthave
appearedlikeaprideofcubsbereftoftheirelders,quarrellingoverthescraps.Ilearned
theartofsurvivalbykeepingoutoftheway;thestudyanditsoccupantwerethecentreof
myfear.IfIwascaughtdoingsomethingwrongIwassummonedtothestudyandjustice
wasadministeredonthespot–abeatingeitherwithanivoryridingswitchwithanornate
goldenhandlewhichhungonthestudywall,nodoubtatrophymyparentshadbrought
backfromtheirtravels,orevenmorelethal,withanépéewhichresidedinanelephant’s
footinthehallalongsideanassortmentofwalkingsticks.
My brother knew exactly how hard he could beat me without inflicting any lasting
damage,anartprobablylearnedasaprefectatRugby.Idiscoveredtheimportanceofnot
stiflingtears;cryingindicatedtohimthatIhadabsorbedthelessonandhadsubmittedto
hiswill.Mysistersoccasionallystuckupformeandwereoftenbeatenaswellfortheir
trouble. However, provided I kept to the basic rules and stayed out of his way I was

convenientlyforgotten.
Ihadnoneoftheusualchildren’stoyssuchassoldiers,trainsandsoontoplaywithand
the peculiar circumstances of our household had not encouraged the making of friends.
MoreandmoreItooktothestreetsandmygameswereextremelysophisticated;Ibecame
an explorer and the back streets of Newcastle, derelict sites and old empty houses my
territory.Iclimbednearlyeverywallandroofinourstreetandtheresultsoftheseforays
werebothdangerousandpainful.OftenIwouldreturnhomewithtornclothesandbroken
skintobedulybeaten.
WhatfriendsImadewerepickedupcasuallyinthecourseofmywanderingsandthey
wereusuallystreeturchins.UrchinisnotsuchacommonwordnowasitwasthenandI
stillrecallpeeringthroughtherailingsofthelocalcouncilschoolandwatchingtheyoung
childrenofaboutmyownagerompingintheplayground.ThedifferencewasthatIhad
shoesandstockingswhilemanyofthemwerebarefooted.OccasionallyIwaspickedup
andjoinedagangroamingthestreetsterrorizingtheshopkeepers,butthiswasalwaysa
verytemporaryliaison.
Not long after my mother’s death the curtain rose on a new act, heralded by secret
conferences between my brothers from which I was firmly excluded, clearly indicating
thatIwastheobjectoftheirconspiracy.Thedesirabilityofsendingmeawaytoboarding
schoolhadneverbeenindoubt,onlythemeansofpayingforit.Somehowabenefactor
was found, negotiations with the school concluded, and soon I was informed that the
Dragon School, Oxford, had accepted me as a pupil. I suspect the fact that my four
brothershadbeenalreadytotheschoolhelpedthesituation.
***
The Dragon School was essentially a civilized place, in contrast to Wellington College


where I went later. It was a mixed school where early in its history girls won the same
rightsasboys;itfosteredacollectivespiritbringingoutthebestinwork,playandthearts.
I was kitted out with the very minimum required by the school clothing list, which my
elder sister packed into an ancient family trunk whose locks had long since fallen apart

andwhichwasnowsecuredwithanoldropewashingline.Mysister,whoatthetimewas
nomorethanfifteenorsixteenyearsoldandaboutthesameproportionsasmyself,could
notresistborrowingthemoredesirableitemsofclothingforherownuse;shewaspassing
throughayachtingphaseandmywhiteflannelsandcricketshirtsdisappearedalmostas
soonastheywerepurchased.Tomakeupweightandvolumeitwasnecessarytoballast
the trunk, and I could easily arrive back at school with a motley collection of old bras,
pantsandvests,muchtotheembarrassmentofbothmatronandmyself.
With the advent of boarding school, I underwent a complete metamorphosis of
behaviourandcharacter.UntilthenIhadlivedandsurvivedinalargelyadultworld.What
companions I had made of my own age were acquaintances of the moment, picked up
casuallyoffthestreets,whosegameswererough,physicalandgenerallyanti-social.There
was little in my home to attract boys of my own background, and even if I managed to
smuggle them through the front door their subsequent discovery and reception was so
hostile that our house was soon blacklisted. At boarding school this mould had to be
turnedinsideoutasInowhadtoadaptmyselfveryrapidlytoachildren’ssocietywitha
completelydifferentsetofrulesandcodeofbehaviour.Awholenewterritoryoftoysand
games opened up and I quickly discovered an appetite for possessions such as model
trainsandleadsoldiers,thelikeofwhichIhadnotcomeacrossbefore.
ItwasnotlongbeforeIbegantoenjoythesettledandsecureroutineatboardingschool,
somuchsothatthenormalschoolboys’attitudetoitbecamereversed.Ilookedforwardto
returningtoschoolaftertheholidaysandviewedtheapproachoftheholidayswithdread.
ToavoidraggingitwasimportanttoconformtothepatternsoIlearnedtobeextremely
secretive about my home life. To explain the lack of letters, food parcels and visitors I
invented a guardian who lived in India and whom I saw only very infrequently. This
appeared to satisfy my cronies but also earned me a considerable amount of sympathy,
indeed,somuchthatIbecameverypopularasaspareboy,alwaysavailabletobetaken
out to lunch (there was nothing worse at school than failure to produce a friend at the
appropriatetime)byvisitingparentsorinvitedhomeforaweekintheholidays.
DuringtheholidaysTerenceleftmemoreandmorealone,althoughIwasnotentirely
free from assaults upon my person and dignity. However, he was discovering the

effectiveness of the latter and for one punishment I was despatched back to the Dragon
School without any pocket money at all, and even now I cringe at the humiliation of
havingtoconfesstothemasterinchargethatIhadnocashtohandinandthenbeinglent
ashillingbyhimtolastmetheterm.Tobeanorphanwasbadenough,tobeapoorone
wasawful.
Boardingschoolintroducedmetoitsownpeculiaractivities,thefiercestofwhichwere
coldbathsandorganizedgames,bothprobablyinstitutedforthesamepurposeofdamping
the ardour of young male spirits and bodies. There was an almost animal ferocity about
thewaywewererudelyawakenedfrominnocentsleepanddrivenlikesheepintotheicecolddipofalargelead-linedtroughintheschoolhouse,asthoughtocleanseanydirty


thoughtslurkingunderthebedclothes.
Dirtythoughtswerenotentirelydrivenfrommymind.Myfirstinitiationwithrawsex
waswithoneofthesuccessionofmaids,sincewagesoftenshillingsaweekdidnotbuy
their loyalty for very long. She was not a bad girl, about seventeen years old, from the
country, with a red face and large hands chapped and ingrained from endless treks to
frozencoalcellars.Oneeveningwhentherestofmyfamilywereout,shecameintomy
roomwithasetexpressiononherface,satonthebedandsilentlyslidherhandunderthe
bedclothes to hold and fondle my penis. In retrospect I suspect she had acquired a
boyfriend and wanted to find out what a male organ was like. The whole exercise was
conductedintotalsilenceexceptforaquickeningofherbreathingbutthepoorcreature
couldnothavelearnedmuchsincemymemberwasstillfartooyoungtorise;nevertheless
Irememberitasanotunpleasantfeeling.
Thisfirstbrushwithsexledtomysecondandthistimewithamemberofmyownsex.
DuringmyfirstyearattheDragonSchoolIwasboastingonedayinthehouseplayroom
aboutthissexualadventure,embellishedwithafewfantasiesofmyown,toaspellbound
circleofnine-year-oldsandIwassoengrossedthatIfailedtonoticeanolderboylistening
intentlyafewyardsaway.Afterprepthateveningthesameboycorneredmeandforced
meintoalavatorywhere,droppinghistrousers,hedemandedtobeshownexactlywhat
the maid had done to me. This taught me an important lesson about boarding school –

neverbraginfrontofolderboys.TheboysatschooltalkedaboutgirlsandIbegantoget
the general idea that they had something to do with the first ripples of desire stirring
betweenmyloins;discussionswereconductedfurtivelyinthedormitoriesafterlightsout
orinthefarthestcornersoftheplayroomremovedfromthesuspiciouseyesofmasters,so
therewasobviouslysomethingverynaughtyaboutgirls.
TherewereplentyofgirlsattheDragonSchool,mostlydaughtersofOxfordacademics,
andwewereencouragedtotreatthemasmembersofthesamerace;oneofthemplayed
on the same rugby football team as myself, much to the complete bewilderment of our
opponents. Tucking her skirt into her knickers, she would set off with the ball tucked
under her chubby arm, down the touchline, chased by a pack of small boys trying to
decidewhethertotackleherornot.Shewasalarge,heartyyoungladywithnoinhibitions
atall;webecamequitefriendlyand,indeed,shewaskindenoughonedayafteramatchto
lowerherknickersbehindthechangingroomandshowmewhatwasunderneath,butthat
wasall.Iwasdefinitelynotallowedtotouch.
HavingfailedtheCommonEntranceexaminationtoWinchestertwiceImovedonfrom
Dragon School to Wellington College in 1934, where my brother Rupert was a
housemaster–knowntousasaTutor.AftertheDragonSchool,Wellingtonwasacultural
shock. While the Dragon School sought to bring out the best talents in the young,
Wellingtonseemedtoencouragetheirworstvices.Atmyprepschoolboysweretreatedas
individuals; at my public school they were regimented into a system for producing the
righttypeofcandidateforSandhurstorWoolwich.ThestarkVictorianredbrickbuildings
rising out of an uninspiring heathland looked at first sight like a prison and it is not
surprisingthattheinmatesoccasionallyactedlikeprisoners.Iwasfloggedthreetimesin
my first term by the head of my house who was also captain of boxing, on the last
occasionfornoothermisdemeanourthanbeingtootoughwhichIfeltreallywasthepot


callingthekettleblack.
IarrivedatWellingtonattheendofaverybadera.Theschoolwasabreedingground
for beating, bullying and homosexuality. Boys were deemed all right but girls were

definitely off limits. Cold baths, classes starting at seven o’clock in the morning, PT
beforebreakfastfollowedbyavigorousroutineofwork,sportandinnumerableOfficers
Training Corps (OTC) parades were designed to keep the sexual devils at bay but the
completesuppressionofnaturalsextogetherwiththefrequentbeatingsofyoungboysby
olderboyscreatedjusttheatmospheretheauthoritiesweretryingtoavoid.Therewasa
cosy small circle of homosexual masters and their followers, boys easily recognized by
their prettiness, carefully waved hair and effeminate manners. They minced around in a
groupandsurvivedonlyundertheprotectionoftheirmentors.SomeyearslaterImetan
Old Wellingtonian Army Captain who explained to me the extent of this club, whose
tentacles spread far beyond Wellington into the dark labyrinths of the Universities and
Sandhurst,andtheresultsofwhichsurfacedmanyyearslaterasthespiesemergedfrom
thewoodwork.
WhileIwasatWellingtontheArmywasseriouslybeingconsideredasasuitablecareer
formebymyguardians,butthisdreamcametoanabruptendayearorsolater.Anumber
ofushadfoundaverygoodusefortheCorpsrifles,usingablankcartridgetolauncha
missile–penciloracorn–quiteadistancewithsomeforce.ItriedthisonaFieldDay
whenMarlboroughCollegewereactingastheenemyandunfortunatelyshotoneoftheir
boysthroughthecheek,inflictingadeepwound.Iwassummarilyreducedtotheranks.
Hardlyagreattestimonialforamilitarycareer.
DuringthoseyearsmybrotherTerencegotmarriedandtheSandersonRoadhousewas
sold. As the tide of family life, such as it was, went out, my other brothers and sisters
driftedoffandIwasleftstrandedonthebeachduringtheholidays.Forthenextfouryears
Iledanomadiclife,shuntingfromoneaccommodationtoanother.ThismeantthatInever
amassedpersonalpossessionswhichwerenoteasilytransportable,suchasabicycle.Iwas
occasionallyforcedtostaywithTerencewhenallotherbolt-holeshadbeenfilled,buthe
hardly received me with open arms after years of mutual antipathy and dislike. By this
timehewasEditoroftheNewcastleJournalandlivedinasubstantialresidencein‘posh’
Gosforth,asuburbofNewcastle-upon-Tyne.GosforthisstillposhintheNorthandifyou
say that you live there it is like saying that you live in Belgrave Square if you live in
London.NotthatthisrubbedoffonmesinceIwasrelegatedtotherôleofanunwanted

brotherandallocatedasmallatticatthetopofthehouse.Exceptwhenlockedincombat
withTerence,Iwasseldominvitedintothemorecomfortablepartsofthehousewhenhe
waspresent.Isoonbecametoolargeandstrongforhimtoapplythephysicalmeansto
overpower me, so he relied on carefully articulated verbal abuse instead, something at
whichhewasmasterlyandwasstilljustasfrightening.IbelieveitwasBeverleyNichols
whowrotethatfollowinghisfather’sbullyingasaboy,heplottedhowhecoulddisposeof
him.CertainlyIplottedforsomeyearshowImightbringaboutTerence’sdownfalland
humiliation.
WellingtonbeinganArmyschool,itsrigorousroutinenodoubtpreparedboysforthe
worst.ThereisataleofaNavalCaptainwhoonbeingfinallyreleasedfromaJapanese
POWcampwasaskedbyreportersonhisreturntoEnglandwhetherhisexperiencewasas


badashadbeenmadeout.TheCaptainreplied‘Wellitwasnoworsethanmyfouryears
at Dartmouth’. I felt much the same about Wellington. I survived for two principal
reasons; the first was the protective blanket thrown around me by my brother, and the
secondwasthatIhadalreadylearnedtheroughtricksofthetradearoundthebackstreets
ofNewcastle.
WhenIarrivedatWellingtonIhardlyknewRupert.Hehadremainedashadowyfigure
in my early years. Though a classical scholar at Winchester, he had taken modern
languages at Oxford. Winchester would have suited him much better than Wellington
where I always suspected he was a misfit. As a progressive, he spent his whole life
fightingtheArmytraditionofeducation.Attwenty-sixyearsofagehewasaveryyoung
and popular Tutor and I got to know him much better when I joined his form to learn
Germangrammarfromatextbookhehadwrittenhimself.Istartedoffragginghimbut
wasquicklyputinmyplace,allocatedadeskbymyselfinacorneroftheclassroomand
firmlycalled‘Horsley’.
Rupert’sclassroomwasafriendlyplaceandhardlypreparedmeforthemovenextterm
into a form of terror ruled by ‘The Hun’, a squat fat man whose eyes glinted with lust
behind steel-rimmed spectacles as he hypnotized his victims like a stoat facing a rabbit.

He enjoyed beating boys in his study, lowering their trousers first and feeling their bare
bottoms after each stroke. The Hun was recalled with fear by many generations of
Wellingtonians and when he was finally caught ‘in delicto flagrante’ he hurriedly left
Wellingtonunderacloud,onlytogivethesamemedicinetogenerationsofOakhamians.
SoIclimbeduptheschoolhierarchyquitesteadily,firstasafag,thenafteraspellin
no-man’s-land finally joining the élite as a prefect with five fags on call, of which
ChristopherLeewasone,thisnodoubtpreparinghimwellforhislaterrôlesasDracula.
At Wellington College all the privileges fell to the giants of the playing fields. On a
Saturday, for example, if you achieved a college colour for Rugby football you were
certainlyaprince,ifnotaking,fortheday,withthelittlevelvetcapwithitsgoldtassel
perched perilously on the back of your head, all the buttons of your jacket undone and
hands firmly dug into your trouser pockets – both against the rules. You could stride
arrogantly through the quadrangles scattering the folks in your path and even school
prefectscouldnotputahalttosuchsplendidprogress.Iwoncollegecoloursforrugby,
hockeyandswimmingandjoinedtheswells.Butitwasnotenough,andasthecloudsof
warbuiltupominouslyonthehorizonIbecameincreasinglyrestlesstobegone.
Ibegantoplotmyescapeseriouslyatthebeginningofthesummertermof1939and
wrotetoAlfredHolt,theChairmanoftheBlueFunnelLine,whosesonanddaughterIhad
knownquitewellattheDragonSchool,requestingajobononeofhisships.Thisletter
was written more out of bravado than with the expectation of a reply, so imagine my
surpriseafewdayslaterwhenIreceivedaletterfromhimtellingmethatifIpresented
myselfathisofficeinafortnight’stimehewouldconsidertakingmeononeofhisships.I
immediately announced my intention of leaving. I do not think either my Tutor or my
brotherbelievedme,butasIhadalreadyannouncedthenewstomyfriendsIwasstuck
withthedecision.Soexactlyaweeklater,justastheschoolannouncedthatIwastobe
captainofswimmingforthesummerterm,IwalkedoutofWellington.


3

EscapetoSea
Ithankfullyleftthisdarkandmiserable
chamber.InsharpcontrastInowentereda
room,lightandairy,filledwithspartan
furniture,whichseemedtogrowmore
substantialasIwalkedthroughit.
This is the overture to the drama which follows. I went to sea as a callow schoolboy,
cocky and arrogant, and returned six months later as a man ready to face the holocaust
ahead.
InDecember,1938,Ihadbegunaschoolboy’sdiaryoftheeventswhichcausedsuchan
upheavalandInowquotefromitverbatim:
Thursday25May,1939
OnleavingCollegeboysselltheirroombyauction,soafterteaIannouncedIwasselling
minethatafternoon.Itwasquiteagoodsaleonthewholeandbuyingwasreasonable–
enoughtopaymytipsandtrainfaretoLiverpool.Someboyscametobuy,othersjustfor
amusementandotherstoamuse.Chopping,ayoungfag,andhisgangwereofthelatter
class,andtheyboughtallmycrockerymerelyforthepleasureofdroppingitonmyhead
(attheseauctionseverybodysitsaroundthestudyonthewoodenwallslookingdownon
the wretched auctioneer). Any rate I got rid of a lot of unnecessary junk such as pens,
geometry sets, old novels, and pictures handed down from one generation of boys to
another.IofferedmyveryoldcarpetforsaleanditstuckatsixpencebutwhenIhappened
tomentionthatithadbelongedtoJohnston,whohadbeenHeadofCollege,andcaptainof
nearly everything, the price soared up to three shillings and it was knocked down to a
junior fag who had never even heard of Johnston but had been caught up in the frantic
bidding.
Friday26May,1939
Iwokeearlythismorningtoagloriousday,mylastatschool;thequadrangleoutsidemy
roomwasbathedinsunshineandnotevenabreezestirredthefoliageofthecopperbeech
thatstoodinthemiddleofit,guardingtheChapel.
As the College clock struck seven two fellow prefects, Chris and Derek, appeared on

thesceneanddraggedmealongtothebathroomwheretheyceremoniouslyduckedmein
my last compulsory cold bath – much to the amusement of the fags who inhabit the
bathroom at that ungodly hour and who never suspected the prefects capable of such
hilarity.HalfanhourlaterCharteris,theHeadofDormitorybroughteveryonealongandI
wascheeredinthecustomarymannerandhadtomakeashortspeech.ManytimeshadI
cheeredothersbutitwasunrealanddreamliketobeactuallycheeredmyself.Ithinkmy
dormitoryregardedmeasaqueersortoffishwhodidunsuspectedandeccentricthings
sometimes.


I didn’t go into breakfast as a few odd jobs still remained to be completed. At eight
o’clock(mytrainwasduetoleaveCrowthorneattwentyminutespast)Collegecameout
ofbreakfastandbeforeIfinallymademydepartureIshookhandswiththewholeofmy
dormitory.ChrisandDerekpromisedtospreadarumourthatIhadbeensackedforhaving
anaffairwithMatron–asifIcouldgetbeyondherlargemoustache!
So, dressed in an old tweed coat, grey flannels, and carrying a small bag, I set off
through the quads, followed by a battery of stares. A young lad called Harcourt, with
nickname Flop, insisted on carrying my bag halfway and pumped me with hundreds of
questions–IreallythinkheimaginedI’dgottheboot.However,IlefthimonBig-side
[the main Rugby football pitch], promising to send him a postcard of bathing belles in
strawskirtsfromHawaii!WalkingacrossBig-side,IsuddenlyfeltverylonelyandwhenI
turnedroundandsawthosefamiliarredbuildingsbathedinthesunIlongedtoturnback,
butitwasauselessthought.
The train left Crowthorne two minutes late; I had been on the same run many times
before and the engine was affectionately known as the Crowthorne Express. We always
felt schizophrenic about Southern Railway; going back to College they always travelled
toofastandweretoodangerous;returninghometheyweretooslowandtoosafe.
Wednesday31May,1939
I can’t imagine why I have left the secure routine of school to face a totally new and
uncertainfuture.IfIcan’tgetajobwiththeBlueFunnelLineIshallbeuptomyneckin

trouble.
JustafterlunchIcaughtabusintoLiverpoolandwalkedintoIndiaBuildings,alarge
blockjustacrossfromtheMerseyRiver.Ifeltverysmallinthisvastgildedpalacewithits
marblefloors.Peoplescurriedaroundthelobby,clerksintheirwhitestiffcollarsclutching
bundlesoffiles,typistsinsilkstockingsgigglingamongstthemselves.Iwaswhiskedina
liftuptotheseventhfloorwhereIenquiredofabespectacledgentlemanpresidingbehind
awoodencounter,‘MrHolt?’ItwasasifIhadaskedtoseeGod.Takingafewsecondsto
recover his composure, he disappeared behind a green baize door. I imagined he would
reappearandtellmetogoawayandcomebackanotherday.Notso.Hereturnedfifteen
minuteslater,whenheledmeintoasideroom.Amiddle-agedmaninanuntidybluesuit
wasstandingthereandIthoughthewasanotherclerk.Heheldouthishand.‘Howdoyou
do,Horsley,’hesaid,‘IamAlfredHolt.Ibelieveyouknowmychildren?’Hesatdown
andmotionedmetositathisside.Meanwhileanotherpersonhadcomeintotheroomand,
withoutaword,satatthetablewithapileofdossiersinfrontofhim.
IexplainedmypredicamenttoMrHoltandtheimperativeneedformetogotosea.Mr
Holt immediately asked me the question, ‘Have you the permission of your guardian?’
‘Yes,’Ireplied,crossingmyfingersunderthetable.Hethenturnedtohisclerkandsaid,
‘GivemeafileonboatsleavingLiverpoolinthenextweekorso.’Whilehewaslooking
at the file I had a chance to study him. He was a fine looking man with tired but
penetratingblueeyes.Hehardlyneededthefileasheseemedtoknowallabouttheboats:
when they arrived, when they left, the names of his captains and officers. ‘Ah yes,’ he
finally said, ‘here’s a boat leaving for the East on Saturday; would that suit you?’ I
immediatelyreplied,‘Yes.’‘Alright,’hesaid,‘youwillbeadeckboyatasalaryofone


shilling per month. You will work and live with the crew but I will put you under the
chargeofthemidshipmenandyouhaveyourmealswiththemandtheofficers.’(Ididn’t
realizethesignificanceoftheshillingamonthuntilafewdayslater.)‘Ohyes,’hesaid,‘I
willgiveyoualetterfortheCaptaintotheeffectthatyoumaygetonandofftheboatand
rejoinanotheroneatanytime.’

Isuspectthiswassomekindofinsuranceforthecompanybutitwasneverthelessvery
decentofhim.Hegotup,heldouthishandandsaid,‘Goodbye,Horsley,’andcontinued,
‘if I was twenty years younger I would come with you. Now you can go and see Mr
Miller.’
MrMillerturnedouttobeawhite-hairedoldmaninatweedjacketwhoappearedtobe
thegeneralfactotum.HeproceededtotellmeabitabouttheBlueFunnelLine.
‘We are,’ he said, with pride, ‘an old-fashioned family shipping line, mainly running
cargo to the Far East but some of our ships do take a few passengers. The ships are all
drivenbycoalandareeasilyrecognizablebythetallbluefunnel.Youwillbesignedon
the TSS (Twin Screw Ship) cargo boat, the Cyclops, carrying a mixed bag of heavy
machinery,cottongoodsandtintraystoChinaandJapan.ShewillbecallingatGibraltar,
Port Said, Aden and Penang in Malaya to bunker before going on to Shanghai and
Yokohama.’
He went on to explain that almost everywhere the ship docked was part of the great
BritishEmpire,exceptChinaandJapan.Wehadenormouspossessionsaroundtheworld,
inAmerica,India,Africa,Australia,andColoniesintheIndianandPacificOceans.The
Blue Funnel line served this Empire, taking finished goods from England and bringing
backtherawmaterials.Iwassuitablyimpressed.Finallyhesaid,‘Comebacktomorrow
andyoucansignontheArticlesoftheshipandIwillintroduceyoutothemidshipmen.’I
leftIndiaBuildingswalkingonair.
Thursday1June,1939
Today I signed on the Articles of the Cyclops as a deck boy. I was introduced to the
midshipmenwhoweresupposedtokeepaneyeonme–MessrsRoxby,Frost,Eliotand
Raymond.Roxbywasatallboywithhardblueeyesandasharptongue.FrostwasathicksetAustralianwithamopofcurlybrownhair,andwithkindeyes,incontrasttoRoxby’s;
heseemedapleasantsortofboy.Eliotontheotherhandlookedratlike,amediumtallboy
with straight smooth hair and shifty eyes. Raymond was a pleasant but obviously hardheadedWelshman,obstinate-lookingtoo,andhiscompanionscalledhimTaffy.Soaftera
last-minuteshoppingspreeIreturnedtomypubforthelastnightinEngland.
BirkenheadthateveningwasfullofthetalkofthesubmarineThetis.Shehadsunkjust
outsideLiverpoolHarbouronatestdiveandwasstuckonthebottomofthesea;shewas
crammedfullofdockyardworkers.Rumoursranlikewildfire;onetramconductortoldme

thateveryonehadbeensaved,anotherthattheywerealllost.Twelvemidnightsawmein
afishandchipshopaboutaquarterofamilefrommyship.Therewasabouttenother
peopleintheshopbesidesmyselfandtwogirlsbehindthecounter.Therewasonlyone
conversation–Thetis–thewordhungfromeveryone’slips,itwaswrittenintheireyes,
dullandsad.Theywereallworkingclasspeople,menwithscarvesforcollarsandblack
pointed shoes covered in dirt and oil. They all seemed to know at least one of the men


trapped in the submarine. The girl behind the counter walked over to a cheap looking
radiosetandturnediton.Avoicequietenedus.‘Thereisnotmuchhopeleftforthemen
onthesubmarine,’thevoicesaid,‘AllisbeingdoneforthoseentombedintheThetis,butI
amafraidtheairisrunningoutrapidly.’
Saturday3June,1939
ThismorningIwentonboard.EveryonewassobusythattheytooknonoticeofmesoI
leanedovertherailandwatchedeveryoneelseworking.Thenoiseandbustleonthedeck
wasincredible.Wewereduetoleaveatteno’clockbutinfactitwashalfpasttenbefore
thepilotcameaboard.
The Cyclops left the wharf at exactly eleven o’clock. It was an exciting business; the
FirstMatestoodonthepoop,fromtimetotimewavinghisarmsandshouting.Thepilot
was on the bridge, megaphone in hand and beside him stood the Captain looking very
seriousandverymuchtheCaptain.Awhistleseemedtobethesignalforactivitytobegin,
the gangway was drawn up, ropes were cast loose, smoke poured from the funnel. Two
thickcableswerethrowntotwowaitingtugswhichcaughtthemandproceededtopullus
outofthewharf.
Therewerealotofshipsallalongthewharves,somequitedeserted,othersfulloflife
and like ourselves about to embark on a journey. There was one blackened derelict – a
symbolofashatteredpast.TherewasasmartJapaneselinerwhoseofficersweresprucely
dressedinwhite.
Ifeelhorriblelonely;IwishIcouldturnback.Iseemtobealoneintheworldaboutto
go thousands of miles, it’s my own fault. I chose this course. I suppose this is home

sickness,butleavingLiverpoolwiththewharfgettingfainterandfainter,andsurrounded
bystrangefaces,IwouldgiveanythingformyroomatWellingtonandafewfriends.
There’saraceofmenthatdon’tfitin,
Aracethatcan’tstaystill;
Sotheybreaktheheartsofkithandkin,
Andtheyroamtheworldatwill.
Theyrangethefieldandtheyrovetheflood,
Andtheyclimbthemountain’screst;
Theirsisthecurseofthegipsyblood.
Andtheydon’tknowhowtorest.
JohnMasefield

Itwasabouttwohoursafterleavingthedockthatwesawsignsthatsomethingwasamiss.
A squat destroyer closely followed by a small trawler steamed by on our port bow. We
arrivedonthescenebyteatime,whichwasforgottenintheexcitement.Aboutamileor
so away to starboard we saw the cluster of ships, some Naval and some commercial
steamerslikeourselves,alltakingpartortryingtohelpinthegrimdramabelowthesea.
Fromadistanceitlookedlikeaharmlessclusteroftoadstoolsoutlinedagainsttheskyina
field of blue. It was anything but harmless – a sinister scene, but at the same time a
macabreandfascinatingoneforinthemiddleofthatclusterdeathhadstrucknotoncebut
ahundredtimes.
Wecouldbeofnousesowesteamedawayslowlyandregretfullyfromthatsadspot.


BirkenheadwassoonleftbehindandatHolyheadtheshipstoppedandourpilotwasput
ashore.AfterwehadleftporttheFirstMate,MrLarge,hadcalledmeandFrostandtold
ustocleanup.Theshipwasfilthy,withcoaldustlyingeverywhere,bitsofrope,timber,
ragsallovertheplace.Beforelunchtogetherwetidiedupthebows(lunchwasattwelve
o’clock)andafterwardssweptit.Itwasafouljobleavingussweatyandcoveredwithcoal
dust.Dinnerwasatseveno’clockandafterwardsIwenttomybunkintheforecastlein

totalsilence.Ifeltthecrewdidn’tappeartolikemypresenceatall.
AtSea
Monday5June,1939
Myfirstrealdayatsea!Atfiveo’clockpromptlyIwasintroducedtoacupofdarkbrown
liquid called tea and a slice of bread and butter. I dressed hurriedly, hardly bothering to
washorcleanmyteeth.Goingoutsidetherewasalotofactivityonthedeckforherethe
day begins early at half past five. I spent the next two hours swabbing down the decks
underthesharpeyeoftheboatswain.
AfterbreakfastFrostandIreportedtotheFirstMate.Thefirstjobthismorningwasto
storeboxesawayinthebowsandthesecondtocleanupagainaswedidyesterday.Frost
is a very quiet but strong companion. The other two midshipmen are taking watches so
theywillnotbeworkingwithusuntilafterPortSaid.Fromeleventoaquarterpastthere
is a break; in the Navy I gather this break is called a ‘stand easy’ but here it’s simply
known as a ‘smoke’. Everyone appears to be great smokers on board. I suppose it is
because cigarettes are so cheap – a shilling for fifty Woodbines and one shilling and
sixpenceforfiftyPlayers.
ThisafternoonImetoneofthegreatcharactersoftheship–everyoneseemedtocall
him‘Bose’,shortforBoatswain.IgatherthatnexttotheCaptainheisthemostimportant
manontheship–asortofSergeantMajor.Iwaswalkingunderthebridgewithmyhands
tucked in my pockets whistling when the Bose came up to me and said, ‘Young fellow,
therearetworulesofseanevertoforget.One,don’twalkaroundwithyourhandsinyour
pocketsandtwo,don’twhistle,particularlywhentheCaptainishavinghisafternoonnap
andthatisrightnow.Ifyouwakehimuptherewillbehelltopayforeveryoneandyou
willneverheartheendofit.’Hehadcomeuponmesilentlyandwalkedawaysilently.
Tuesday6June,1939
Startedoffthedayswabbingdecks.Afterbreakfastwasgiventhejobofwashingdown
the Captain’s deck. I was sent to find a bucket and pinched the first one that came into
sight.TogetherFrostandItoiledandstruggledwithscrubbingbrushesandsoap,ouronly
reward being red knees from kneeling on the hard deck. At about half past ten I was
approached by a Chinaman who claimed that I had stolen his bucket. Naturally I hotly

deniedthisaccusationandareallygrandquarreldeveloped.However,asusualIwasin
the wrong and it turned out that the bucket I had pinched was his. At eleven o’clock –
smoke. At half past eleven the doctor vaccinated me against smallpox and tropical
diseases!Thenwestoredpulleysfromthederricksandafterthatbegantosandandcanvas
thebridgerails.Thisisajobwhichisverygoodexerciseforthewrists;itisamatterof
putting a bit of sand on a small bit of rolled up canvas and rubbing like hell. You then
washofftheresultwithsoapandwater.Halfpasttwelvetohalfpastone–lunchofsoup,