Convoy South by McCutchan Philip

Author:McCutchan, Philip [McCutchan, Philip]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Endeavour Press
Published: 2015-02-10T16:00:00+00:00

IV

Two days later the Coverdale’ s tanks were both emptied and steam cleaned — and afterwards flushed through with seawater, plenty of it, before shifting once again, this time to the repair yard. In the meantime a number of dockyard officials had come aboard and had poked and pried into everything they could find; the damage to the hull had been inspected, as had the fractured summer tank once the cleaning process was complete. Dempsey and Evans had been in the thick of it, answering questions from civilians who, had they been in Portsmouth, Devonport or Chatham, would have worn sober suits and bowler hats in indication of their status as management. A captain(E) RN had, as anticipated, come aboard with them and Evans had spent some uncomfortable hours with him, being catechized as to his report and all the circumstances leading up to the death of the chief engineer and Dempsey’s dangerous descent into the gas-filled tank.

Evans, young and inexperienced, was out of his depth; when the naval officer had at last gone ashore, he felt that his job might well be in danger even though he had not been acting chief at the relevant time. There were always unfairnesses at sea; someone always had to carry the can and, of course, as second engineer at the time he did have some responsibility himself. It was clear enough that there had been some slackness in not clearing the tank of every last bit of sludge. There was going to be a board of enquiry; it was due to sit the next day and the sorting out would not be a fast process, but the convoy’s sailing would not be put back because of it. The final conclusions might not come for months, with Evans sent back from the UK or somewhere to resume his evidence. And whatever happened it was certainly going to be months before they announced their findings, so a long time of worry loomed ahead — unpleasantly to an acting chief with his career at stake.

Worries had come also to Sub-Lieutenant Cutler. Commodore Kemp was an understanding boss, far from stuffy, with plenty of sympathy for the desires of a young officer to make the most of his time in port. Kemp had had plenty to do in the way of attending conferences, discussing his route diagonally across the South Atlantic with the Naval Control Service officers, being apprised of such as was known of the movements and current positions of German raiders and U-boat packs and so on; but he had felt able to dispense largely with his assistant’s help. As a result Cutler had seen a good deal of the English civilian girl by the time the tank and hull repair had been made good; and, somewhat precipitately, he had fallen in love.

Her name was Natalie Hope-Wynyard. Not that alone: she was Lady Natalie Hope-Wynyard and her father, an earl, was an admiral. But it wasn’t the difference in the respective ranks that worried Sub-Lieutenant Cutler.

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