Pride and the Anguish Read Online Free Page B

wartime reservists. He could sympathise to begin with, but as time wore on he found such attitudes tiresome and irritating. Tweedie, it seemed, was no exception. He had been formal and withdrawn throughout breakfast, and had spent most of the time reading a pile of newly arrived letters which lay beside his plate. Trewin had seen that the big, spidery handwriting which covered each sheet of paper made up very few words, yet Tweedie read each page as slowly as if he were studying the Bible.
    Hammond had told Trewin earlier that the gunner was paying for a new bungalow in Southsea to which he had hoped to retire. The war had stopped all that, and Tweedie had been sent to the Far East immediately after the first shots had been fired.Now apparently he relied on his wife’s letters to keep him informed, not about her wellbeing, but of all the recent progress to bungalow and garden.
    He had a tight, tapered mouth, and Trewin guessed that he probably suffered from stomach trouble. When the ship was in harbour and he was not required for duty, Tweedie just disappeared. Nobody knew where he went, and no one, it seemed, cared very much either.
    Trewin forgot the morose gunner as a voice-pipe intoned, “Steam on capstan, sir!”
    He recognised the voice as belonging to the chief E.R.A., Nimmo, whom he had met the previous evening when exploring the engine room.
Porcupine
did not warrant a commissioned engineer, but Nimmo’s square, competent face left Trewin in no doubt that the ship’s power department was in excellent hands.
    â€œVery good, Chief.” He looked round the bridge as a loudspeaker blared, “Special sea dutymen to your stations! Stand by for leaving harbour!”
    He loosened his shirt, feeling suddenly tense. All at once it was new and different again. He heard the clatter of running feet on ladders and sidedecks and saw the white-clad seamen scampering below the bridge as if their lives depended on it. Others appeared on the bridge, and below in the wheelhouse he heard C.P.O. Unwin, the coxswain, testing the wheel and speaking severely to one of the telegraphsmen.
    There was a step behind him and Trewin turned to face a tall, lanky lieutenant who was carrying a folded chart under one arm. His shoulder-straps showed that he was a reservist, and before Trewin could speak he said easily, “I’m Ted Mallory, navigating officer.” He held out his free hand and raised one eyebrow. “How are you doing?”
    Trewin grinned. Mallory was the sort of man you either took to immediately or disliked on sight. He had dark, steady eyes and deep lines around his mouth which gave him a sort of permanent derisive smile. He was very tanned and his cheeks were coveredwith tiny pockmarks, mementoes from some childhood acne.
    â€œGlad to meet you.” Trewin looked across at one of the anchored gunboats. She too had steam up, and he could see the white caps of her officers along the bridge screen. “We’re sailing in company then?”
    Mallory clipped the chart on to the bridge table and laid his ruler and dividers on top. “Sure. We often do.” He smiled. “A proper toy fleet, this is!” He glanced at his watch and became very serious. “I was ashore till this morning, otherwise I’d have had a quiet word.” He screwed up his eyes and added, “You seem a nice bloke, so I’d better warn you.” He waved his hand across the bridge. “You may not know it, but the screws on this gunboat are in tunnels right inside the hull.”
    Trewin nodded slowly. “The chief did mention it.”
    Mallory eyed him admiringly. “You’ve been doing your homework! Anyway, what you may
not
know is that at half-speed or so you need very little helm. She’s flat-bottomed and will sail on wet grass. Also, she’ll swing round like a terrier if you put the wheel hard over.”
    Trewin made a mental note of it. “Thanks again. And I’m