1.

THE VISIONARY.

Le Havre was some way ahead but the ship cut its engines and slowed to a halt, heaving in the dark swell. I had left the noisy below-decks area after a difficult hour in the main saloon, surrounded by many seasick men, and trying to breathe the stuffy, smoke-thick air. I had just discovered that my rank, Lieutenant-Commander (Acting), came with privileges, one of which was that I could take refuge outside on this windy boat deck. It was late at night in a chill November and a stiff wind was blowing from the south-west, but I stood in the dark just outside the door, gratefully breathing the clean, cold air. Few of us on that ship were natural sailors, and the choppy sea had come as a disagreeable surprise. The mal de mer had not as such affected me, but the sights and sounds in the saloon were increasingly difficult to live with.

I moved away from the door, feeling my way in the dark, holding on to a handrail. The only light on the deck was from a quarter moon, and that intermittently because thick clouds were racing along with the wind. I supposed that once there might have been seats or deck-chairs here for pa.s.sengers, but all of them had been removed. The deck now was stacked with military equipment, which I had glimpsed by daylight in Folkestone, when we boarded: trucks, carts, large crates, unidentified pieces secured beneath tarpaulins. Even in the daytime it had been impossible to work out what most of the materiel might be. I fervently hoped that it was not ammunition.

A fellow naval officer had warned me against leaving the saloons, but I was one of the few pa.s.sengers who had the choice. I was a civilian, or a civilian officer, but the newly tailored uniform neither fit me properly nor suited me. I felt I was an impostor, that the men around me, especially the crew of this ship, would not be taken in by it.

I worked my way forward to the prow of the ship, hoping that I might be able from there to glimpse the harbour, or at least something of the land. I was eager to leave the boat as soon as possible and start the next leg of the journey. The companionway I was groping my way along was stacked with packages and crates, and I barked my shins a couple of times. The quartermaster had issued me a greatcoat which I was now wearing, grateful for its deadweight feeling of comfort.

There was nothing of the land of France to be seen forward of the ship so I made my way carefully down towards the stern, hoping for a final, dark glimpse of England. I had no idea when I might return, if ever. Again I clouted my shins. I encountered a set of steep metal steps, but I did not like the idea of clambering down them in the dark, not knowing what was beneath me. I paused at the top, thinking I might be able to see something of England from there. The breeze was blowing stiffly against the unprotected deck in that part of the ship, loaded with spots of rain or spray from the bitter-cold fetch of the English Channel. Never before had I left the sh.o.r.es of my native country, so thoughts of the likely dangers ahead were on my mind.

I walked back slowly towards the bow of the ship, because I had noticed a place to stand where I would be at least partly out of the wind.

The black-out on the ship was total, but my eyes were growing accustomed to seeing in the dim moonlight. When I found my way back someone else was standing where I had been, huddled like me in a large outer coat, appearing from his hunched stance to be just as cold and miserable as I was. He must have heard me coming, because as I walked up to him he extended a friendly hand to take mine.

We shook hands in the dark, muttering conventional greetings. The words were swept away by the wind. I felt rather than heard our leather gloves squeaking against each other.

'Have you any idea what's going on?' I said loudly. 'Do you know why the ship has stopped?'

He leaned towards me, lifting his face towards mine, raising his voice.

'I heard some of the crew talking about another ship going down,' he said. 'It was outside the harbour at Dieppe. The captain told me it was thought to be a hospital ship. He said he and the other officers of the watch saw a flash in the east and heard an explosion.' He paused, clearly appalled, as I was, at the consequences of that possibility. 'The captain said he had been intending to divert to Dieppe, but had changed his mind.'

'Was it a submarine? A U-boat?'

'What else might it have been? A mine, possibly, but the approaches to the French Channel ports were swept recently. There are other ships in the area, so it might have been one of those that was sunk.'

'A hospital ship! Good heavens.' I was shocked by the news, the stark reminder yet again that we were involved in a desperate war. 'I can't imagine it. What a disaster that would be, if it were true.'

'I know exactly how you feel.'

'Is this your first time out of England since the war began?' I said.

'No, it's my second. I was in France a few weeks ago, just briefly. What about you?'

'My first time,' I said.

I fell silent for a moment, because when I accepted this commission I had been expressly warned not to discuss anything about it with anyone. The work in which I was going to be engaged was deemed to be of the highest secrecy, although until I reached my destination in France even I was not to know any advance details. For the last two weeks, as I prepared to leave home and tried to understand how I could conceivably make a worthwhile contribution to the war effort, I had developed an inner guard against talking. I was in my middle fifties, far too old to be of any use to the army or navy, or so I had thought, but my name had been put forward. The call of loyalty to my country in times of war made me feel I should have to respond.

I sensed from his general bearing that my companion was the same sort of age as myself, and therefore not likely to be an officer on active duty. We stood together in awkward silence for a few more minutes, when suddenly we heard the ship's telegraph and almost at once there was a burst of sparks and smoke from the stack. The great engine began to throb once more and a familiar vibration ran through the superstructure. From the saloons below there came the loud sound of ironic cheering as the troops realized the ship was getting under way again. They, like me, probably felt an irrational sense of greater safety, as if movement alone would protect us. While the ship was immobile I could never quite throw off the fear that a pack of German U-boats must be speeding towards us, lining up their torpedo tubes. Our ship was so small, over-loaded, thin-hulled, seeming to me vulnerable to almost anything while it floated on this troubled sea.

My companion evidently felt the same as me because with the returning sound of the engine he said, 'That's much better. We'll be disembarking soon. Even if we have to detour through Calais it won't be a long journey. Let's stand out of the wind for a while. Where are you heading, if I might ask?'

'I'm not able to say. I'm travelling under orders.'

'Let me think. Are you a co-opted civvy?'

'Yes,' I said. 'I've been authorized to describe myself as a tactical consultant.'

'Splendid! That's exactly what I am too. Our missions to France are apparently alike, although no doubt not in detail. We have to keep our traps shut. The greater good they call it. German spies everywhere. But I suppose there would be no harm in exchanging names.'

'Well-'

Now that I was up close to him and my eyes had adjusted to the night-time gloom I was able to make him out more clearly. He was shorter than me, stockily built, and whenever he spoke he bobbed around in an uncommon but attractive way. We were strangers making acquaintance in a tense situation, but I could detect he had a sense of fun, that he was not likely to take me or our situation all that seriously. Even though I took seriously the warnings about remaining tight-lipped, I could hardly imagine a more unlikely German spy.

Part of my professional stage act includes a presentation of mind-reading, which has required me to develop a fine ear for the different accents of English. This chap was well spoken but somewhere in his vowels, his intonation, was a trace of London c.o.c.kney, modified by cla.s.s awareness and the influence of college education. I imagined him living in a well-appointed London suburb or in a prosperous market town somewhere in the south-east of the country. An interesting social mixture. From such fragments of intuition, and in my case years of practice of studying the ways of strangers, we form our early impressions. At that moment, with the lights of the port at Le Havre rising towards us in the distance, I was cold, travel-weary and extremely hungry. It was the sort of physical condition in which I have often found my mental senses to be best attuned. I was eager for intelligent talk to while away the rest of the journey. I wished to like him because I wanted his company.

After a moment's reflection, following his suggestion that we introduce ourselves, I said, 'I suppose you could call me Tom.'

'Tom! I'm glad to meet you.'

We shook hands again. 'And you are?' I said.

'Let me see. You may if you wish call me . . . Bert.'

Our handshake now was firmer than before, more open to friendship. Tom and Bert, Bert and Tom. Two middle-aged Englishmen on a boat heading to war.

We remained standing together in that half-sheltered spot near the bow. About ten minutes later the ship navigated slowly between two huge walls to enter the harbour s.p.a.ce. We barely spoke, each of us eager to see what we could of the place. The telegraph bells kept clanging and the engine changed note several times. Someone on the sh.o.r.e shouted up to the bridge and our ship let off a couple of siren blasts. Ropes were thrown and secured, the engine idled back and there was a series of mild, slow b.u.mps as the hull settled against the wharf.

We could also detect noises and movement coming from the decks below.

'I must collect my luggage,' Bert said in a moment. 'I imagine there will be a fearful sc.r.a.p to board the train. I a.s.sume you too are travelling on by train?'

'I have a warrant to travel first cla.s.s,' I said.

'As have I,' said Bert. 'I don't suppose a first-cla.s.s ticket will make much difference on a troop train, but it might ent.i.tle us to seats.'

We made a quick and informal agreement to reunite, if we could, in the first-cla.s.s carriage of whichever train we were told to board. Just in case we were not to meet again we said our farewells, wished each other a good journey, and then plunged down in search of our luggage, into the hot, odorous and still smoke-filled lower decks.

2.

Some time later I was off the ship, had crossed the wide ap.r.o.n and after a certain amount of shoving and squeezing I was sitting on a train. I was beginning to lose track of the time I felt as if I was enduring a night of never-ending delays, fatigue, noise, with my hands, face and feet freezing to death.

It must have been coming up to midnight. I had been travelling, if that is the word to describe what I had been doing, since just after an early breakfast.

The easiest part by far had been getting from my home in Bayswater to Charing Cross Station, as I had called a cab which carried me and my luggage speedily and in some comfort. Thereafter everything degenerated and the rest of the day had been a particular kind of h.e.l.l. My first-cla.s.s warrant duly allowed me into the first-cla.s.s carriage, but it was a mere technicality. I shared my compartment with what felt like two dozen ridiculously young soldiers, pink of face and shiny of expression, most of them with deep regional accents, all buckled up in khaki and webbing, weighed down with huge packs and strapped-on equipment. They were in good spirits, though, invariably addressed me as Sir, and all in all were a good crowd to be with. We were nonetheless crammed uncomfortably together.

Our slow journey to the port at Folkestone was torture: the train rarely travelled above walking speed and stopped, or so it seemed, at every signal between London and the Kent coast. When we finally reached the harbour station there was a mad scramble first to find a toilet, then to get in line for a mug of tea and some bread and b.u.t.ter. We embarked on the ship, but far from taking a relieved step into comparative comfort I discovered the ship was already crowded with soldiery who had arrived before us. Our own arrival vastly increased the confusion. I stuck it for a long time, knowing that these young men needed to be fed and watered as much as I did, and to stay in the ruck was probably my only chance of finding something to eat.

Once the ship was under way, instead of sailing across towards Boulogne it headed for the more distant Le Havre. It was when the choppy waves brought on the many cases of mal de mer and I escaped to the open boat deck that I encountered my new friend Bert.

I could not find Bert when I joined the train at Le Havre perhaps I was too eager to gain myself a seat. However, I did manage to save a place beside me in case he should come along. The carriage filled up quickly, so I could not keep the seat next to me indefinitely. Soon a young private from the Lancashire Fusiliers thrust his weight down beside me. He offered me a cigarette and a swig from his bottle. His name was Frank Butler, he was nineteen years old and he was from Rochdale. It was his first time away from home. He talked enthusiastically about walking in the Pennine Hills, calling me Sir three times in every sentence. I started to doze in spite of Pvt. Butler's constant chatter. Time began to pa.s.s more easefully than before.

Then my arm was shaken.

'Lieutenant-Commander Trent, sir?'

I opened my eyes and saw a tall army lance-corporal standing over me, leaning down at an angle through the crush of bodies.

'Are you Commander Trent, sir? The scientist?'

'I'm Mr Trent, that's right. But-'

'I've been hunting all along the train for you, sir. I'm ordered to look after you as my responsibility, and you're in the wrong seat, sir, if I may say so. If I don't get you where you ought to be I'm in big trouble and no mistake.'

His manner was respectful and his tone was polite. I did not want to get him into trouble, so with a great deal of difficulty and the cheerful help of some of the soldiers I removed my two large cases from the overhead rack. The train still had not moved from the harbour station. The lance-corporal and I forced the compartment door open and we half jumped, half fell to the platform.

'They was holding the train up until I found you, sir,' he shouted back over his shoulder at me.

He took the larger of my two cases and we walked quickly along the side of the train. The troops appeared to have filled every carriage to the point of bursting open the doors and windows.

'Just along here, sir. Much more comfortable than what you was putting up with back there. And the other gentleman's already waiting for you.'

We came to the carriage at the back of the train, a box car with only two or three small windows. The lance-corporal led me up some narrow wooden steps, urging me to hurry. I was still trying to push my case up in front of me when I felt the train lurch and we began moving.

The carriage was the guard's van: a large s.p.a.ce with a caged storage area, and a mult.i.tude of flags and lanterns for use by le chef de train. It was warm in there, lit by lanterns. Sitting alone on a wooden chair inside the caged area was my friend Bert. He was upright but relaxed. He had folded both his hands over a walking cane and his chin was resting on those. A second chair had been placed next to his.

The lance-corporal politely saw me into the cage, put down my bags and made sure I would be comfortable. The train was already gathering a little speed, and knowing that there was no corridor I was growing worried for the able young man. Unconcerned, he showed me a cabinet where there was a flagon of fresh water and some gla.s.ses, two long loaves of French bread wrapped in white tissue paper, some cheese and a bottle of red wine. 'I think the bread might be a little dry now, sir, but probably tasty enough.' Indeed, it all looked extremely appetizing.

Not a moment too soon the lance-corporal bade me goodnight, and said he would look out for me and the captain when the train reached Bethune. As he began to clamber down the steps I could see the platform moving by. Then, as if his departure were a signal, the train stopped suddenly with a great squealing of brakes.

While this was going on Bert had roused. He was sitting fully upright, regarding me with his eyes blinking. We greeted each other.

'So pleased you made it here,' Bert said. 'I was beginning to think you had gone on another train.'

I told him what had happened, then, because my stomach was rumbling, I said, 'Would you care for some bread and water?'

'Since we have been put inside a cage, it's an appropriate choice of food.' He crinkled his blue eyes in an amused way and we both went across to the cabinet. 'But perhaps instead of water, a little wine?'

'Yes indeed!'

We broke the bread, took a chunk of cheese each and filled two gla.s.ses from the wine bottle. We resumed our seats.

'Did I hear the lance-corporal say you are a captain?'

'Most certainly. I wouldn't abandon my home and family, and suffer a French train, for anything less. You too? I see you are a Navy man.'

He was glancing at my uniform.

'Not a captain. A lieutenant-commander.'

'Aren't you going a rather long way inland to join your ship?'

'It's a land-based installation, I believe.' Again I felt the weight of necessary silence on me, so I prevaricated. 'It was all a little unclear. You are in the army, I see?'

'That's right.' He crunched on the bread, spilling large brown flakes of the crust on the carriage floor. 'I insisted on being a general, thinking I could be negotiated down to colonel, but they would not go above captain. It's more than a little ridiculous, in my view, but then the whole blessed war is ridiculous. I tried to tell them that two years ago, when it all got going.'

'I don't suppose the young men we're travelling with think it's ridiculous.'

'That's right. They're just boys the eternal tragedy of war and those who become its warriors. I've two boys of my own. Thankfully, they're still at school, so with any luck they'll be spared the appalling mess in France and Belgium. Have you any idea what the young men on this train are going to have to go through? Or how many of them will not be going home again?'

'It's going to get worse.'

'I agree. Things are warming up in worrying ways, but I think this is where you and I come into the picture. They want ideas, fresh ideas.'

He said nothing more to enlarge on that. For a while we sat silently together, enjoying the delicious cheese and sipping the wine. Fatigue was rising in me, though. I looked around the compartment but there was nothing that might be used as a mattress or a bunk. Just our two wooden chairs, side by side.

Bert had obviously cottoned on to what I was thinking.

'Seems to me,' he said, 'that this train isn't likely to move off for a while.' The train still had not departed. 'I was starting to think, just before you arrived, that I might open up my luggage, see if I can find some clothes I could spread out on the floor, up against the wall over there. I'm feeling wiped out. Need to put my head down.'

'Have you travelled far today?'

'Only from Ess.e.x. Not a bad trip until the train to Folkestone. How about you?'

'Near the centre of London,' I said. 'Bayswater Road. Towards Notting Hill.'

'I know the area a little. I lived for a while not far away. In Mornington Place, near Camden Town.'

'Ah yes.'

'I still have a small flat in London, but I spend most of my time out in the country.'

Bert's suggestion of trying to bed down was a good one, so we drained our gla.s.ses, recorked the bottle and then began searching through our luggage. I was already thinking of my cloak, which was in the case with the other apparatus. It was just about the last thing I had packed: however hard I tried I could not think of a single practical use for it where I was going, but it was so much a part of my normal work that it seemed inconceivable to leave it at home. As chance would have it, it now became ideal for my immediate needs.

The cloak had been made to exacting specifications and at the time had cost me a great deal of money. It is made of purple satin on the outside, warm black corduroy on the inside, and because of the number of hidden layers and pockets st.i.tched into it there is a thick lining.

I tugged it out of the case, spread it out and folded it in four, making a long makeshift mattress several layers deep. Bert watched with interest but said nothing. He spread a couple of coats and some woollen pullovers on the floor for himself. I was dizzy with fatigue. The air was warm in the carriage and the distant sound of the troops in the next car was almost soothing. I crawled on to my satin robe, tugged my greatcoat across me and was asleep within a few seconds.

3.