World War, 1914-1918 -- Naval operations -- Submarine; World War, 1914-1918 -- Personal narratives, British
‘I know,’ chimed in another. ‘I went down the boat before she shoved
off to try and get a drink out of him, but when I got there the
cupboard was bare.’
‘By the way, aren’t they back yet?’
‘Don’t think so. You’d hear ’em quick enough if they were. They do seem
to be a bit late. Probably strafed a Hun.’
‘If they’d done that they’d be back at the double. They hadn’t anything
to celebrate it with.’
‘Can’t help their troubles, and if we don’t want to be late for dinner
we’d better get moving,’ and, snatching his cap from a pile on the
table, the speaker linked arms with a couple of cronies and waltzed out
of the room.
‘My opinion,’ said the Torpedo Lieutenant to a circle of boat captains
gathered round the fireplace, ‘is that you fellows take life too
seriously. Look at me. I work all day. I’m a fine figure of a man....
Now, then, no rude remarks, please. And I come in here in the evening
as merry as a cricket.’
‘That’s all right,’ replied one of his listeners. ‘It all depends on
one’s definition of the word work. You ought to look it up; you’d find
it instructive.’
‘Your pardon, sir. My labours are long and strenuous. I went down three
boats to-day and gave my valuable advice on Mark XX torpedoes. But
alas! this is a thankless world. I received recompense in only two. The
other boat had lost her corkscrew.’
‘Say, Boyd,’ cried a voice at the other end of the room, ‘how did the
gyro behave last trip?’
‘A 1. I’m becoming a perfect knut at it. He only rang once. I’ve come
to the conclusion that when you know the elements of its construction,
it’s as easy as falling off a log. Yes, a cocktail, please, waiter. I
had some trouble at first though, but that was my own fault. In fact I
composed a song entitled “When the Sperry bell is ringing.”’
‘Mine’s jolly fine now, never makes a murmur.’
‘When you’re quite finished your harangue on work, a subject on
which you are grossly ignorant, Torps, perhaps you will pay a little
attention to me.’ The voice was Raymond’s.
‘Now, tell me why. Why am I to listen to your fatuous and narrow-minded
remarks on a topic that is not only entirely distasteful to me at all
times, but altogether beyond the pale at this hour of the evening.’
‘My fatuous remark, as you are pleased to call it, was about to take
the form of asking you to have a gin with me, but seeing that----’
‘Kamerad, kamerad. I apologise--for once you talk as a Christian
should. Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend him your ears. He’s going to
do the decent. I can feel it coming on.’
‘At one time, in my palmy days, when I was your age,’ said Raymond,
raising his glass, ‘I could go a whole pint of beer without swallowing.
But now---- It’s a bit ’ard. Cheer-oh, everybody.’
In the train of the drinks came the Marine servants bearing the
table-cloths and silver, and a general move was made for the door.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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