Issue XIII
Contents
I
Twenty Years with Richard Bolitho
II Jack
had a term for it...
III I give
you a sentiment, by Kim Reeman
IV Alexander Kent
-- With All Despatch
V 'Anthony Valentine
Reads Richard Bolitho -- Midshipman'
VI Douglas Reeman
-- In Danger's Hour
I
Twenty Years with Richard Bolitho
Richard Bolitho is so much a part of my everyday
life that I find it difficult to believe that the first of eighteen books
about his adventures was published twenty years ago.
As I have said in the past,
I never feel that I created Bolitho, rather that he was always there, waiting
to make his entrance. I had already been a professional novelist
for ten years under my own name when Bolitho's first book, To Glory
We Steer, was published. But it goes back much further than that.
To my long and lasting love of the old sailing navy, of Nelson and the
sailors he inspired as no other leader has done.
Apart from a very distant relative,
I was the first in my family to enter the navy. Before me there had
been a long line of soldiers, redcoats, sappers and the infantry, in more
campaigns than even Bolitho. And yet my yearning for the sea never
once wavered, and I can recall my regular trips to Portsmouth and other
naval ports to visit the ships or watch the grand reviews in the Solent
or Weymouth Bay. And my favourite was the Victory, so perhaps
Bolitho was even then walking at my side -- or in those days more likely
holding my hand.
On the rare occasions when
I passed through Portsmouth during the war, to join a ship, or to dash
home on leave “away from it all”, I hardly dared to look towards the old
Victory
in case she had become as much a victim as the many ships I had seen blasted
to pieces at sea. Portsmouth was very badly bombed and her scars are still
painfully clear to any one who knew the city before. Victory had
become a symbol, as much under the hail of bombs as she had in the line
at Trafalgar.
I do not recall when I knew
I wanted to become a writer; even starting the first-ever book is now a
bit hazy in memory. But over the years, bits and pieces seem to gather
although I told myself I was more than satisfied with earning my living
with my contemporary sea stories.
It fell to an American to suggest
that I should take the plunge into the eighteenth century, a man called
Walter J. Minton who was my New York publisher. Always a dynamic
person to work with, and one who was well aware of my love of history,
although far from easy and often very demanding. But I know now that
he understood the publishing world like few others, so that when he made
his suggestion about an historical series there never seemed any doubt
about it!
Choosing a name for my character
-- or did I even do that? Years earlier I had sailed my own boat
to the little port of Gorey in the Channel Islands. I had already
visited Jersey and after the strain and drabness of the war it seemed like
heaven to me.
I was assisted with my moorings
when I eventually tied up in Gorey by a fine man who later introduces himself
as Captain Richard Bolitho. The name inserted itself into the pattern.
It seemed right.
I was unsure about the reception
of my series, how many stories should I plan for, where to begin, what
ship, where bound?
Eventually I chose a time in
Bolitho's life when he was a very young captain in his first frigate.
Since then, so many sea-miles,
so many disappointments and triumphs too have I shared with Richard Bolitho.
He now has friends all around the world in many languages, and through
him I share those friendships.
Some time ago I was doing a
trans-Canada tour for my publisher, a gruelling affair of one-night stands,
lectures, radio interviews and TV appearances. A young Canadian girl,
herself a writer, came to hear me speak at the Harbourfront in Toronto,
her home town, because she was one of Bolitho's far-off friends and readers.
I know that Our Dick had a
hand in that meeting. Kim and I were married in Toronto in 1985,
and when? On Bolitho's birthday. Of course.
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II
Jack had a term for it...
In past newsletters I have mentioned some of the
naval terms which although still in daily use have lost some of their original
meanings, born in the age of sail.
Men recruited into the King's
ships, be they volunteers or victims of the Press Gang, had to familiarize
themselves with every aspect and working part of the vessel around them.
To make this easier to understand many of the nautical terms were like
parts of the human body, i.e. the eyes or waist of a ship,
the
head or the stays, the cradle and the apron.
These are just a tiny collection.
Swinging the lead. Still
in use for anyone who avoids hard work. In fact a leadsman was always
a prime seaman, able to heave out his lead-and-line and identify the depths
of water by day or night, with nothing but the marks on the line
to tell him the fathoms below the keel. Because of this skilled work the
leadsman was spared the heavier chores of reefing and furling sails and
the other toils which were a sailor's lot. The army's version was
dodging
the column. Skirmishers and scouts who covered the advance of their
comrades on the march were allowed to leave their packs and heavy equipment
with the baggage train, so that it would not hamper their movements, while
the main bulk of troops carried everything on their backs. So although
the outflung scouts were in constant danger of ambush, their freedom was
wryly regarded as “getting away with it”.
Sky-scrapers came into
a sailor's jargon long before the miracle of high buildings. They
referred to sails set above most of the others, like sky-sails,
usually light triangular ones.
A term which has remained firmly
in the past is Loblolly Boy, the nickname given to the surgeon's
assistants, men who had the grisly task of holding a wounded sailor bodily
on the table while he endured the knife or saw of an operation without
anaesthetics.
Loblolly was much the same as burgoo, a thick
oatmeal gruel or porridge, which was a popular cure-all offered by ships'
surgeons to their patients.
Pushing the boat out.
Common enough today when it is someone's round of drinks in a pub. But
the term owes its origin to Horatio Nelson. After losing his arm,
the little admiral installed a beautifully-made silver boat mounted
on wheels which could contain two decanters of either madeira or claret.
When entertaining his captains he was then able to push the wine around
the table more easily. The boat is now in the Nelson Collection at
Lloyd's of London.
Show a leg! Show a
leg! Always familiar and unwelcome aboard men-of-war when the
boatswain's mates rouse the hands to lash up and stow their hammocks at
the start of a new day. In the 18th/19th century navy, and especially
during the Revolutionary and Napoleonic wars, ships were at sea longer
than they were allowed in harbour. On the rare occasions they found
time to rest in port, it was not unusual for captains to permit sailors’
wives or “ladies of the town” to share the gundecks with their menfolk.
The women were not expected to turn out when the hands were called.
To prevent any misunderstanding a shapely leg was dangled from the occupied
hammock as proof of the occupant's identity.
Jack Tar always had the right
feel
for his own language!
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III
I give you a sentiment,
by
Kim Reeman
Throughout the winter of 1957 a young man in a
shabby sports jacket sat in Richmond Park, in the back seat of a Fiat 500,
balancing a typewriter on his knees and watched with interest by the deer.
He was an ex-RNVR, ex-East End policeman, ex-CID detective and now a children's
welfare officer in Battersea and Wandsworth: and he was writing the fictionalized
story of "his war" on the backs of London County Council nit notices.
He wrote the story without notes from his personal experience, and more
for his own satisfaction than out of any hope of publication. When
it was finished he submitted it to three publishers. Months passed,
and eventually the manuscript, A Prayer for the Ship, was accepted.
It was published in 1958, and was the beginning of a remarkable career.
Ten years later, ten books
later, having established himself as one of the foremost modern sea-story
writers of his time, Douglas returned to an earlier love, the ships and
men of Nelson's day, and embarked on a new and challenging phase: a series
of novels featuring one man and spanning that splendid, stirring era.
For this series, he chose the pseudonym of Alexander Kent, the name of
a childhood friend and fellow naval officer who had been killed in the
early years of the war. In June of 1968 To Glory We Steer
was published, and its solitary, sensitive, compassionate hero, Richard
Bolitho, was introduced to an ever-growing readership.
That was twenty years ago;
and thirty years have passed since those grey winter afternoons in Richmond
Park. The exploits of Richard Bolitho are featured in eighteen novels,
the lives and deaths of other men, equally heroic, in twenty-eight Reeman
books. There are others waiting to be written, for the mind and imagination
which produces these memorable stories is ever active, ever fruitful.
And what of the man?
What is he like, as a person, as an individual? He gives himself
and his own great talent little credit: every book is still approached
with apprehension and nervousness. There is no formula, no easy technique
after thirty years. Every book is lived as it is written, an experience
as emotionally draining for the writer as it is for the reader. These
are books to cherish, and to share, and they reflect virtues which are
perhaps regarded as old-fashioned in a modern world: the qualities of honour,
courage, love of country, comradeship, a consciousness of duty, humility,
sensitivity, and compassion. These are qualities found in characters
like Richard Bolitho: Douglas would be the first to deny it, but they originate
in him.
He is a man of great personal
charm and humour, sometimes easily hurt: a man passionately committed to
accuracy and attention to historical detail, and perpetually, and rather
endearingly surprised by the affection and interest of his readers.
He has many times been compared to Forester, which is unfortunate and unfair
-- it should be recalled that Forester, who will always be remembered for
Hornblower, had nothing but contempt for his creation. For Douglas,
Richard Bolitho is a shadowy, constant presence, inspiration and companion,
an independent force, and regarded sometimes with almost superstitious
awe. He has often said that he regards himself as Bolitho's secretary
only -- as one chosen to tell his story, which for twenty years has illuminated
a dark past, inspired, enlightened, educated, but above all, entertained.
It is a joy and a privilege to share his life,
and these special anniversaries.
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IV
With All Despatch
 In
1792 with the explosion of war against Revolutionary France only months
away, Captain Richard Bolitho is forced to choose between accepting a shore-based
appointment at the Nore and the Medway ports or find himself discharged
-- “on the beach”.
It is a difficult time for
Bolitho, and yet both fate and instinct dictate that he is at the very
cross-roads of his tempestuous career as a sea officer.
He is still suffering the cruel
after-effects of a fever caught in the Great South Sea, and haunted by
the memory of the woman he had loved there, only to watch her buried in
the deep after their voyage in anboat.
He is told to report to his
superior at the Nore and give his full attention to recruiting seamen for
the fleet, which has been allowed to run down and rot between the wars,
and where morale is at its lowest. He is soon aware of the blatant
activities of the smuggling gangs, the notorious Brotherhood which for
years have flouted the law, often with the connivance of the authorities
employed to restrain them.
From his youth in Cornwall
Bolitho knows that the mystery and romance of smuggling are part of a myth.
In reality, it is a brutal and pitiless trade, where intimidation of the
innocent is normal practice, and murder too routine to discuss with safety.
Many of the smuggling vessels
are better manned and more heavily armed than the revenue cutters and small
naval vessels sent to seek them out, and often local landowners, some of
them magistrates, turn a blind eye on captured offenders, if only to maintain
their own supplies of brandy and other contraband.
Across the narrows of the English
Channel the Terror spawned by revolution rages on. The King of France
is in jail awaiting the mercy or the fury of the mob: while he lives, some
believe there is hope that the tide of madness can be stemmed.
Despite the dangers and the
gathering clouds of war the smuggling gangs ply their trade with contempt
for those sent against them. They attack customs posts to retrieve
contraband or free their comrades otherwise bound for the gibbet . . .
in this same century William Pitt sent a small army into Deal to burn the
smuggling luggers and seize the culprits. A pitched resulted, with
only the discipline of both dragoons and foot soldiers able to carry the
day. When war finally broke out, Pitt changed his tune and said of
the Brotherhood, “These men are my eyes, for without them I am blind to
the intelligence of the enemy.”
With such collusion and corruption
in high places, and with three speedy topsail cutters under his command,
Captain Richard Bolitho sets about crushing the activities of the gangs,
and in doing so recovers many deserters who had fled the navy for supposedly
richer pickings in “the Trade”.
With Allday at his side, and
against all odds, he is ready when the new orders reach him from the Admiralty
– to proceed on a secret mission “With all despatch --”.
For Bolitho, those familiar
words are a lifeline.
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VIII
‘Anthony Valentine reads
Richard Bolitho – Midshipman’
It's October 1772. Richard Bolitho, a midshipman
of four years standing, is waiting in Portsmouth to join his new ship,
the 74-gun Gorgon. Her captain has been ordered to the west
coast of Africa to 'show the flag'.
Gorgon's ships' company
soon find out that the enemy they encounter is just as ruthless and skilful
as any who challenge the navy's authority. In this, chronologically,
the first book about Richard Bolitho, the listener is introduced to the
life and times of the men in Nelson's Navy. As in his subsequent
books, Alexander Kent captures the excitement and detail of the times,
and gives us a thrilling story for the young of all ages.
Anthony Valentine, who is particularly
well-known for his television portrayal of Raffles and his performance
in ‘Colditz’ brings the whole story to life.
© Bolitho Maritime Productions Limited 1975
Abridgement for recording purposes: Sam Curtis
For Music for Pleasure Limited
Produced by Graham Goodwin
® 1977 Music for Pleasure Limited
Recommended price: £4.99
Available from record shops and from multiple
and department stores
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VI
Douglas Reeman
In Danger's Hour
Minesweeping . . . a war without glory, where
death lurked beneath the sea or floated from the sky. A war without
mercy or discrimination. The men who fought this lonely battle did
so knowing it was an essential one. Every day, in every kind of weather,
the sea-lanes had to be cleared to allow convoys to enter and leave a country
under siege. The ships faced danger from the air, E-boats, even submarines,
but mainly their fight was against an unseen enemy – an endless, deadly
battle with the mine.
In Danger's Hour is
the story of one such ship, the fleet minesweeper HMS Rob Roy during
those desperate fourteen months from February 1943 to D-Day in June 1944.
It is also the story of her captain, Lieutenant-Commander Ian Ransome --
a veteran of this ruthless warfare at the age of twenty-eight -- and of
the eighty men in her company: their fears and ambitions their strengths
and weaknesses. When the order comes to leave the English Channel
for the Mediterranean, Ransome knows the battle-scarred Rob Roy
has a vital role to play, and the courage of seasoned veteran and newcomer
alike is tested to the full. Faced with the awesome burden of command,
Ransome must fight a private war of his own to hide his secret griefs and
longings; must steer his ship through one last epic battle before he can
return home to the woman he loves.
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