0658, June 9, 1915, Purser’s Cabin, HMS Benbow, Cromarty Firth
Sub-Lieutenant Dan Connor’s feet hit the deck a split second after his alarm clock rang. He was on duty in thirty minutes. He quickly showered and shaved. The one advantage of being in port was the ready access to clean water. On the downside, it meant that officers had to be more presentable than usual. That meant that the barely visible peach fuzz on his face was intolerable. In his hurry, Connor replaced it with a few nicks. Damn razor
Back in his cabin, Connor quickly pulled on his shirt and pants. The tie took him a few minutes. HE had learned from his father how to tie one a few years before, but it still took him a while to get it right. The socks and shoes quickly followed. Finally, all he needed was his uniform jacket. Connor opened his locker and looked for it. The jacket was nowhere to be seen. He quickly searched the small cabin again. No luck. The jacket was not in his cabin. I’ve got watch in ten minutes. I’m gonna get it. Panic took over in a minute. He ransacked his locker for a third time. Is this some kind of joke? An initiation from the other sub-lieutenants? I’m so gonna get it.
“Looking for this?”
Connor jumped a full six inches at the sound of his voice. He was a short kid, around five feet tall, yet he was tall enough. He smacked his head on the inside of his locker. Stars flew in his blue eyes for a minute as he gingerly turned around.
Commander George Callaghan stood in the doorway to Connor’s cabin, the dark blue jacket of a Royal Navy officer dangling from the hanger in his hand.
“Sir?” Connor’s face was an obvious mixture of pain, surprise and confusion.
“Dan, I believe you are looking for this.” Callaghan tossed the jacket to the now fully bewildered young boy before him. Connor grabbed the jacket and put it on. As he was buttoning it, he noticed the cuffs. Two thin gold bars graced the sleeve instead of the single one he was entitled to. He looked at his shoulder boards. They too were not the ones the sub-lieutenant was expecting. He finally looked at his cap. It too was one he would have expected on a junior lieutenant.
“Sir, these aren’t mine. I’m not a lieutenant. I don’t get two cuff rings.”
“You do now, Dan. Congratulations.”
“Sir? I . . . just graduated sir. I can’t . . .” Connor’s emotions took hold, and he began to stutter. The shock and confusion on his face amused Callaghan.
“Dan, it is true that you are not a lieutenant. You are an acting lieutenant. We need somebody to cover for Paymaster Commander Dalrymple until he recovers. The Captain decided you would be that person. It is official as of yesterday morning. While you don’t get the pay, you do get the cuff rings.”
“Ttthank yyou, sirr” Connor stuttered.
“Go ahead and call me Uncle George for the moment. The door’s closed. Now get to Main One. You have watch in five minutes.”
“Aye aye, Uncle George!” Connor put his cover on his head, shook his uncle’s hand, and raced toward Main One. Callaghan closed the door behind him and chuckled the whole way back to the bridge.
0730, Bridge, HMS Benbow
“Captain on the Bridge!”
“At ease!” Captain Lord Robert Herrick shouted before anyone could come to attention. “Mr. Callaghan, in my cabin if you please. Mr. Grace, you have the watch.”
“Yes sir!” the navigator, Lieutenant Grace, shouted as Commander Callaghan followed Herrick into his sea cabin behind the bridge.
“George, are we ready for sea?”
“Sir, Benbow is ready in all respects. However, Cromarty refuses to detach any destroyers for escort. I’ve tried twice. Both times, the port admiral’s deputy won’t give them to me.”
“Very well, George. I will deal with it after Commander Spaulding’s funeral. Anything else?” God help that poor bastard when I get done with him. He’ll wish he died with Spaulding
“No sir.”
“Did you give Dan his cuff rings yet? I gather from your smirk that you pulled something on him.” George Callaghan’s penchant for practical jokes was well known among his peers. More than one then Sub-Lieutenant had suffered from a ‘Callaghan Initiation.’
“Yes sir, I did.” Callaghan’s smirk became a wide grin.
“I don’t want to know, do I? He’s still breathing, I assume?” What embarrassment did you inflict on him?
Callaghan quickly recounted the tale.
“I remember when my father did that to me. So how did you get his jacket?”
“Easily. I grabbed it while he was asleep.” Callaghan artfully neglected to mention that he found Connor tossing and turning on his bunk. His brown hair was tousled, he was covered in sweat and crying. Junior officers had very little pride or confidence in themselves, and Callaghan was going to protect whatever his nephew had. Besides, he’s not the only one who will have nightmares after the scrap. I would be surprised if any of the youngsters didn’t suffer a few. Lord knows I did the first action I saw. And I was a lot older than he is.
“You are the very devil George! I just hope you won’t decide to pull one on me.”
“Not as long as you are senior to me, sir!” The grin returned.
“Cheeky fellow! Dismissed George. Make certain that all hands not on watch are at the chapel ashore at 1300 for Commander Spaulding’s funeral. Full dress” It is time to say goodbye to another good man. We have done entirely too many of these for my taste. God help me if I have to do this for Dan, or Davin, or any other kid.
1300, St. Regulus Scottish Episcopal Church, Cromarty
St. Regulus Scottish Episcopal Church was packed. Every single seat in the pews was taken by men in the blue of the Royal Navy. Up in the front pew was the only exception. There sat Lieutenant-Commander Spaulding’s widow and his young daughter. With them sat his elderly mother. All three were clothed in mourning black. His widow’s eyes had bangs from too much weeping and too little sleep. With her sat Captain Herrick, Commander Callaghan, and the Gunnery Officer, Acting Lieutenant-Commander Thompson. Behind them sat every single surviving member of Benbow’s gunnery department. Many bore the marks of the engagement that took their commander from them. Some bore bandages covering shrapnel wounds. Others had gauze from flash burns. A few were in wheelchairs. In the back stood Sub-Lieutenant Dobson, his right arm in a sling, another legacy of that German 12”/50 shell.
Every other man in St. Regulus that day was also from Benbow. Commander Spaulding had been a popular officer, and the crew would have come regardless of their captain’s order. The rector of St. Regulus had agreed to stand aside for the funeral. He too had seen far too many funerals for Royal Navy men. He knew that both the dead and the living could take a small comfort from being laid to rest by their own chaplain.
Benbow’s chaplain, Father Paul, began the service. The assembled mourners did their best to pay attention, but Father Paul’s words only brought forth painful memories. Everyone could remember the cheerful smile. The officers remembered Spaulding’s daughter’s christening. Others remembered the last night’s dinner ashore with Spaulding and his wife.
As Father Paul continued with the service, the emotions changed. While he was asking for forgiveness and praying for Spaulding, the men wanted revenge. Revenge for their friend. Revenge for their commander. Revenge for the man who left a pretty wife and a small girl behind. Revenge for the mother who lost her eldest child. They wanted the Germans to pay for every Benbow in the grave. They wanted the Germans to pay for every tear on Christine Spaulding’s face. They wanted the Germans to pay for every day Henrietta Spaulding had to spend without her father. They wanted the Germans to pay for every moment Mary Macintosh Spaulding was without her son. Revenge would not give them back their friend. It would not give them back their commander. It would not reunite Christine Spaulding with her husband, it would not give little Henrietta back her father, nor would it return Mary’s son to her. They wanted revenge anyway.
Finally, Captain Herrick stood up to deliver Commander Spaulding’s eulogy. As he passed, he saw the tears on Mrs. Spaulding’s face and the utter incomprehension on Henrietta’s. He saw the seething hatred in Lieutenant-Commander Thompson’s face. He saw the anger at the Germans for taking a good man from them. He saw the anger for taking so many good men from them. He saw the guilt that they were alive and Spaulding was not.
“Thomas Macintosh Spaulding was a good man. He was always smiling. Every day, he would do his best to encourage us. When things didn’t go our way, he was always there to cheer us up. He did his best, and expected us to follow. And we did.
“He lived for his wife and his daughter. I remember one day when Benbow put into port. While the rest of us were worried about shore leave or a chance for good food, he made certain that his letters home got out. He wrote to his family every day. He kept pictures of them with him, and they were the last words on his lips.
“That is why he chose the Navy. Thomas Spaulding was a guardian. He wanted to spend his life protecting his wife and child. He wanted to protect his parents. He wanted to protect people he didn’t even know. He joined the Navy to protect us and our families. That was the point to his life.
“In action, Thomas did not flinch. He stood at his post bravely. When Benbow was hit, he did not duck. When the splinters flew into the foretop, he did not run. When he was wounded the stayed at his post. He clung to the range finder; he did his duty. As he stood there bleeding, he did not cry. As he lay there dying, he did not waiver. He did his duty until he could no longer. He knew that people depended on him. He knew that his family needed him to keep them safe. He knew that we needed him to keep us safe. We gave him the strength to accept his duty, and we gave him the courage to keep going.
“He would want us to take a portion of his courage. He would want all of us to do our best. We should go from here new men and women, and draw strength from his example.” As he spoke, Captain Herrick saw the burning rage in his crew’s eyes. He saw the need for revenge. “The enemy has taken a good man from us. They have taken many good men from us. Thomas gave his last breath to save us from them. His death must not be in vain. The enemy must pay. DAMNATION TO THE GERMANS!”
Captain Herrick was normally a quiet, happy-go-lucky, mild-mannered man. Now he had a voice that would blister steel. His shout resonated throughout St. Regulus, and through every man and woman in that church. The cry stirred something deep inside the audience. Spaulding’s mates understood his sacrifice for them. He did for them what they all wished and hoped they had the courage to do. His wife understood his actions. She knew that he could do nothing less. His mother understood his heritage. She knew that a Scot must be avenged. As Herrick’s cry died, it was taken up again. First by Thompson, then by the Gunnery department. Each man stood up and shouted at the top of his lungs. “DAMNATION TO THE GERMANS!” Man after man stood and shouted. Soon, every man stood and shouted. “DAMNATION TO THE GERMANS!” The loudest, shrillest voice of all came from the front row. There, a little Scottish lady stood and chanted, pouring out her pain. She cried for her son’s chosen clan to avenge him. His family clan, the Macintosh, could not. The Navy would. “DAMNATION TO THE GERMANS!”
“Thomas Spaulding was one of the bravest men I knew. He was one of the best men I ever knew. He will be sorely missed and always remembered.” At this point, Herrick’s captain’s face broke, and the anguish and pain slipped out. He quickly regained his composure, but every man and woman in that church saw it. Every man and woman saw the toll Spaulding’s and every other death in Benbow inflicted on their captain, and the all saw how important each and every one was to their captain. This too was one thing they owed the Germans. Revenge for their captain.
Herrick stepped down from the podium. He faced right and executed three precision steps. He stopped a few feet away from Spaulding’s flag draped coffin. His right hand came up in a crisp salute. Then he slowly turned to the right and marched back to his seat. As he passed Christine Spaulding, she stopped him. He looked into her eyes. So similar to Kate’s. So similar to my own The pain and the anger and the tears flowed down her face. She quietly managed to whisper to him “get the bastards who did this. Get the bastards who took my Thomas from me.”
“I will madam. I will.” His voice was as cold and hard as steel.
1430, Outside St. Regulus Scottish Episcopal Church, Cromarty
The procession slowly filtered out of the nave. At the lead was a lone piper in full regalia. Lieutenant Commander William Boy led the procession that would lay Thomas Spaulding in the ground. The community of Gunnery Officers was a tight one, and Thomas Spaulding had befriended every single person he met. A Scot would be piped to his grave by his fellow Scots, and a Scottish Gunnery Officer would be piped by a Scottish Gunnery Officer. Commander Boy had received a two day leave from the captain of Queen Elizabeth. Commander Boy knew that Queen Elizabeth might see action while he was away. It didn’t matter. He would see his friend properly buried. Captain Dave understood. Hatred burned in Boy’s eyes. A Scottish Gunnery Officer would be avenged by a Scottish Gunnery Officer as well.
Ten feet behind him, marched Captain Robert Herrick. He held his full dress sword in his hand, bare steel shining in the morning sun, a warning to those who took Thomas Spaulding out of this world. Behind him processed a Crucifier, a single silver cross on a pole in his youthful hands. He wore a black cassock and a white alb. In a wedge behind him followed two more acolytes. These two wore white single piece cassock-albs. They carried gleaming silver torches, candles burning bright. All three had fathers in the Navy. All three had friends whose fathers were in the Navy. All three had seen too many funerals. All three burned inside.
Behind the acolytes, the eight most senior gunnery officers from Benbow carried their friend to his eternal resting place. Each had been among the first to shout, and each yearned to be the instrument of his retribution. Behind them marched the trio of women. Christine carried little Henrietta, while Mary Macintosh Spaulding walked alone. She needed no help to lay her son to rest. The banner of St. Regulus’ church closed the small procession, with only Father Paul, Benbow’s chaplain, behind him. Father Paul too had shouted. The shepherd was supposed to protect his flock. When he couldn’t he would avenge them.
The procession ended at St. Regulus’ cemetery. Boy executed a smart left turn and came to a halt on the left side of Spaulding’s grave. Herrick turned right and stood opposite Boy. Pipe and sword, the two symbols of the warrior Scot, graced Spaulding’s grave.
Benbow’s company assembled in the grassy churchyard below the cemetery. As Spaulding’s coffin passed, George Callaghan shouted “Tenshun!” Close to seven hundred men braced to attention. As the coffin and pallbearers turned to make the short walk to the grave, the assembled company saluted. Commander Callaghan drew his sword in a gloved hand and marched down the pallbearers’ left side.
The coffin stopped in front of the grave. Boy moved to the top of the grave, between the drawn swords of Herrick and Callaghan. Sub-Lieutenant Dobson removed the Union Jack from Thomas Spaulding’s coffin and carefully folded it into a creased triangle. His cast and sling hampered him. He still managed to make perfect corners. He handed the folded Union Jack to Christine.
Father Paul said a small prayer. Once he was finished, Commander Boy began to pipe. Thomas Spaulding was laid into the ground by his eight best friends to the strains of ‘Amazing Grace.’
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by Rob Herrick
