Good Enough For Nelson (25 page)

‘We’re even getting invitations for the Farnborough Air Show, the Last Night of the Proms, the Opening of Parliament, next year’s European Cup Final, and the Winter Olympics...’

‘I expect they’ll invite young Persimmons to carry the torch,’ said The Bodger.

‘Yes, sir. The idea is catching on up at the Ministry, too, sir. They’re thinking of broadening the scheme, putting it on a proper basis and making it available to others, not just officers under training at Dartmouth. There was a DCI about it a short while back, sir. I expect you saw it, sir. It’s all rather exciting, sir.’

The Bodger had not read the DCI, nor did he think the idea was rather exciting. On the contrary, he felt momentarily ashamed of himself, because he felt he was growing old and losing his sense of humour. Ten years before he would have delighted in the fact that an off-hand whim of his should have taken on such a life and volition of its own. But now it seemed to him merely another symptom of a Navy that did not have enough to do, a Navy that for years had been investing more in buildings than in ships, in office heating rather than in weapons.

All this visiting and junketing smacked of too much mountain-climbing and pony-trekking and cross-country piano-trundling and pushing peas along with one’s nose and all the other things the Navy now did, ostensibly for charity, but really to pass the time. The image of Tremendous Mackenzie, hard-pressed to put to sea because most of his sailors were out raising money for charity, was typical of the modern Navy. The Bodger was about to say that the Navy was going to the dogs, but he stopped, remembering that he had been saying exactly the same thing twenty years before. It was as true, or as untrue, now, as it was then.

Isaiah Nine Smith had a further point to make. ‘I think these outside visits, sir, if I can call them that, are all the more valuable because they counter-balance the academic side. We need evolutions which resemble the sort of thing officers will be required to do when they get to the fleet. The academic syllabus is getting really high-powered nowadays, sir, as you know. We teach subjects we would never have dreamed of touching only a few years ago. It may be the influence of all these graduate officers, bringing a more intellectual atmosphere into the place, but it’s really getting quite noticeable how egg-headish the College is becoming.’

The Prof. most emphatically did not agree. He regarded Isaiah Nine Smith’s outside visits as further incontrovertible evidence of the College’s steady mental and moral deterioration.
Consule planco
, he told himself, he could have done something about it. Done
more
, at any rate. Now, he felt he could only put his point to The Bodger in the strongest possible terms.

‘Looking at my academic records, which I do from time to time,’ he told The Bodger, ‘there’s no question about it, th-there’s been a st-steady downward gradient. We’re taking midshipmen nowadays whom scholastically we would never have touched only a few years ago. You know, Bodger, I’m seriously thinking of proposing officially that Latin be introduced into the syllabus for
all
officers under training, but especially those with a scientific background from their schools.’

‘Latin! Cor blimey, Prof., you’ll be saying we ought to go back to training in sail next!’

‘Well, now you mention that, there are a number of people not a million miles from this College who would agree with you wholeheartedly that you ought to go back to training in sail. But, as I was saying, Latin is the perfect mind-trainer. Quite apart from its artistic and cultural influence, there’s nothing like Latin for disciplining a young intellect. Besides which, it gives one such a good grounding in English.’

‘You can try it on, Prof., but I don’t hold out much hope of you getting it accepted. By the way, how’s the play getting on? Old
Oedipus RN
?’

‘Very well. Mind you, it won’t appeal to the London stage ...’

‘Never mind, as long as it appeals to us, that’s the main thing. What was that quotation about the actress who got the bird from the hoi-polloi up in the gallery and said she didn’t mind about them as long as the kai-toi in the stalls liked it?’

‘
Satis est equitem mihi plaudere
,’ said the Prof., with a wondering note in his voice. ‘It’s enough for me that the knights applaud. The actress Arbuscula, in Horace. How on earth did you come to hear that, Bodger?’

‘Oh, I don’t know, Prof. One gets to hear these things in the course of a long philistine life, Prof.’

Not for the first or the last time, the Prof. left The Bodger’s office thinking that maybe there was more to the man than met the eye. The reference to philistinism had been a particularly shrewd thrust. The Prof. thought especially of his own son, with a fine scholar’s brain, who had joined a Service which was becoming an intellectual desert. But because the boy also had an athlete’s body, he was doing well in the Navy. Nevertheless, the Prof. considered it a shocking waste.

‘I hate socialists,’ said Shiner Wright, stirring his stand-easy coffee.

‘They put your pay up,’ said the Hon. John.

‘I know, and that makes me hate them all the more. I hate to have to be grateful. Anyway, I’m not grateful.’

‘And they make you think about defence generally. All these defence cuts concentrate the mind wonderfully.’

‘I don’t want to have my mind concentrated, especially by socialists. Naval officers never used to have their minds concentrated, on defence or anything else. All I can concentrate on at the moment is the fact that we’re having to clean up our part of ship as never before and all because we’ve got this bloody Minister of State for the Navy coming and he’s a socialist and I hate him.’

‘Are we getting Pinky or Perky?’

‘Good God, are there two of them?’

‘Pinky is the tall skinny gloomy one with the Geordie accent and Perky is the short fat cheeky one with the Scouse accent.

If it’s Perky, then it’s something to do with the College future. He’s been making disapproving noises about us lately.’

‘I expect it’s all in aid of his nasty little socialist ego.’

In a sense, Shiner Wright was quite right. Although none of them would ever have admitted it, even the most insignificant, talentless, joyless Labour politician enjoyed visiting ships and shore establishments. No matter who he was, whether he was some over-promoted union official, failed journalist or disillusioned lawyer, once he set foot in a naval establishment he was accorded a respect normally reserved for the memory of Lord Nelson. No matter how often he was buffeted in the House, slighted by opponents and cold-shouldered by colleagues, a Minister was always a hero on board ship.

The Bodger himself noticed the extra activity, the paint pots, the lawnmowers, the ladders and the air of preparation as he walked along the parapet with Jerry one morning after Colours.

‘What’s all this in aid of, Jerry?’

‘Visit of the Minister of State for the Navy next Tuesday, sir.’

The Bodger thought for a moment, and then shook his head. ‘It won’t do, you know. This is not the way we should be going about it, Jerry.’

‘But we normally give everything an extra chamfer-up for this sort of visit, sir.’

‘I know we do. And I think it is quite the wrong approach to take. This man and his political party have presided over the greatest decline in the Navy’s prestige and material strength since the days of Charles II. From whatever angle you look at it, we’ve now got less of it. You name it, we haven’t got it. As far as the Navy’s concerned we’re now in a period of the weakest political leadership since the seventeenth century. It would be easier to bear if these men
knew
how bad they were. All their defence cuts have affected us badly, affected our careers, giving us less men, less equipment, less hardware to do our jobs with. Meanwhile the politicians who make the cuts are absolutely unaffected themselves. We suffer, while they pontificate in soapy speeches about defence in the House. To them it’s just a speech. It’s our
life
. Not only that, but we try and pretend that everything is still all right. We cover up with extra coats of paint. Instead of showing them that the cuts
are
having an effect, we try and pretend they’re not. Here we have a man who has publicly announced he is going to try and close us down, and we get ready as though he were somebody. I think it’s high time we changed all that and this pointed-headed little nonentity we’ve got coming on Tuesday will do to start with. Pass the word around, I want to see all heads of departments, anybody who is any way concerned with this visit on Tuesday, to be here, in front of the main entrance, after tea this evening. I’m going to have a tour round this College and there’s going to be some changes for this visit.’

As the day came nearer, changes were indeed visible. Normally, for such an occasion the College would have presented the appearance of an already taut organisation wound up a few notches more tightly. But this time the College had a curiously ungirt look, as though planning had been deliberately left unplanned, as though in fact the College had been preparing through a kind of calculated unpreparedness.

Buster brought his helicopter once more thrashing over the College roofs to the cleared car park. The waiting welcoming party saw, without visible excitement, that it was Perky, not Pinky, disembarking. No sooner had he stepped out on to the College tarmac than he was unceremoniously bustled aside and very nearly jostled off his feet by a rush of wardroom stewards who ran forward and began to unload the sacks of potatoes which had been stowed, to Perky’s considerable amazement, round his feet during the flight. Still puzzled, Perky stood for a moment, watching the stewards tossing out the sacks, one after the other.

The Bodger stood, grinning, at the salute. ‘Good morning, Minister,’ he shouted, at the top of his voice. ‘Welcome to the Britannia Royal Naval College!’

‘Good morning, Captain,’ said Perky, still staring bemusedly over his shoulder at the potatoes, as he shook hands.

‘Knew you wouldn’t mind sharing your cab with our spuds,’ boomed The Bodger hospitably. He cleared his throat. Bellowing at this pitch was already taking its toll. ‘It’s a question of expense, Minister. Can’t afford all the chopper runs we used to have. In the old days, before the defence cuts of ’64, you would have had a special chopper all to yourself. Now we have to double up and make do as best we can. We were sure you wouldn’t mind, Minister. All in the good cause of cutting defence expenditure.’

‘No, no, not at all,’ said Perky, in an unconvinced tone of voice.

‘One moment, Minister.’ The Bodger took a couple of sacks from one steward and hurled them to another. ‘From me ... to you,’ he carolled, deafeningly. Catching Perky’s astounded eye, The Bodger shrugged, and wiped his hands on his trousers. ‘All have to muck in these days, Minister. Short of hands, you know. These defence cuts are really getting home to us now, you’ll be happy to hear. Can I introduce my heads of departments, Minister?’

The Bodger led the way along the short receiving line, of the Prof., Jerry and Isaiah Nine Smith. They were introduced and shook hands in turn.

‘Would have been many more in the old days, Minister,’ The Bodger bellowed. ‘But the cuts of ’56 put paid to them all. You know all about that, though. ’Nough said.’

‘Oh yes,’ said Perky.

‘Shall I lead the way?’ The Bodger led Perky to the parade ground by a most involved route, which would have puzzled the College architect. It was a tour past the maximum number of doors badly needing fresh coats of paint and windows either boarded up or temporarily repaired with strips of sticky brown paper. There were holes in the pathway underfoot, and missing paving stones, and piles of rubble which looked as if they had been there since the last war. One especially large hole had water lying in its bottom, and it was fenced off with a warning board and a red road-mender’s lantern.

‘Mind how you go, Minister,’ warned The Bodger solicitously. ‘We’ve not had the money to look after this properly since April ’69, you know. Of course, we all know what happened then, don’t we, eh, Minister?’

‘Oh yes,’ Perky said, bewilderedly.

They could only walk down one side of the main corridor, for the other was barricaded off by a line of broom-handles, mops, water cans and floor-polishers, linked together with rough twine.

‘Use half at a time,’ The Bodger explained. ‘Saves expenditure on cleaning. It’s extraordinary how you can save money if you put your mind to it.’

‘Oh yes indeed,’ said Perky warmly.

The corridor was strangely dark and, to anyone who knew it, had an unusually down-at-heel appearance. Half the electric bulbs had been removed or, as The Bodger explained to Perky, had not been replaced when they expired. Most of the term photographs had been taken down, leaving unsightly raw patches on the walls.

The Bodger waved a hand at the remaining photographs. ‘Used to have everybody photographed. Can’t afford
that
any more.’

Perky frowned. It could not be, it could not
possibly
be, that he was being made fun of? At the Britannia Royal Naval College?

The doors to several gun-rooms and lecture-rooms they passed had been left open. The curtains had been drawn, but in the dim light chairs could be seen piled up on desks, and other furniture lay under dust sheets. The Bodger simply pointed an apologetic finger, and said nothing. He had been trying to remember where and when he had last seen Perky. Now he had it. Perky had been an ordinary seaman in the old
Superb
. The Bodger could see him now, clearly, cleaning the bright-work in the cabin flat outside The Badger’s cabin. He had been, The Bodger recalled, an unremarkable rating in every way, of average intelligence, appearance and performance. Now, he was the Minister of State for the Navy. Truly, the wheel of life came full circle and there was nothing immutable under the moon. Doubtless the Prof. would have some classical quotation which covered it.

Bright-work obviously aroused memories for Perky, because he commented on the shining brass barrel of one of the guns as they passed.