Only Time Will Tell (The Clifton Chronicles, #1)(107)

‘Me too,’ said Harry. ‘I spent more time here when I was a boy than I did in my own home.’

‘Or in the classroom for that matter,’ said Sir Walter with a wry smile. ‘I used to watch you from my office window. I thought what an impressive child you must be if Old Jack was willing to spend so much time with you.’

Harry smiled when he remembered how Old Jack had come up with a reason why he should go back to school and learn to read and write.

‘What will you do now, Harry? Return to Oxford and continue with your studies?’

‘No, sir. I fear that we’ll be at war by . . .’

‘By the end of the month would be my guess,’ said Sir Walter.

‘Then I’ll leave Oxford immediately and join the navy. I’ve already told my college supervisor, Mr Bainbridge, that that’s what I plan to do. He assured me I can return and continue with my studies as soon as the war is over.’

‘Typical of Oxford,’ said Sir Walter, ‘they always take the long view. So will you go to Dartmouth and train as a naval officer?’

‘No, sir, I’ve been around ships all my life. In any case, Old Jack started out as a private soldier and managed to work his way up through the ranks, so why shouldn’t I?’

‘Why not indeed?’ said Sir Walter. ‘In fact, that was one of the reasons he was always considered to be a class above the rest of us who served with him.’

‘I had no idea you’d served together.’

‘Oh yes, I served with Captain Tarrant in South Africa,’ said Sir Walter. ‘I was one of the twenty-four men whose lives he saved on the day he was awarded the Victoria Cross.’

‘That explains so much that I’ve never really understood,’ said Harry. He then surprised Sir Walter a second time. ‘Do I know any of the others, sir?’

‘The Frob,’ said Sir Walter. ‘But in those days he was Lieutenant Frobisher. Corporal Holcombe, Mr Holcombe’s father. And young Private Deakins.’

‘Deakins’s father?’ said Harry.

‘Yes. Sprogg, as we used to call him. A fine young soldier. He never said much, but he turned out to be very brave. Lost an arm on that dreadful day.’

The two men fell silent, each lost in his own thoughts of Old Jack, before Sir Walter asked, ‘So if you’re not going to Dartmouth, my boy, may I ask how you plan to win the war single-handed?’

‘I’ll serve on any ship that will take me, sir, as long as they’re willing to go in search of His Britannic Majesty’s enemies.’

‘Then it’s possible I may be able to help.’

‘That’s kind of you, sir, but I want to join a war ship, not a passenger liner or a cargo vessel.’

Sir Walter smiled again. ‘And so you will, dear boy. Don’t forget, I’m kept informed about every ship that comes in and out of these docks and I know most of their captains. Come to think of it, I knew most of their fathers when they were captains. Why don’t we go up to my office and see what ships are due in and out of the port in the next few days, and, more important, find out if any of them might be willing to take you on?’

‘That’s very decent of you, sir, but would it be all right if I visited my mother first? I might not have the chance to see her again for some time.’

‘Only right and proper, my boy,’ said Sir Walter. ‘And once you’ve been to see your mother, why don’t you drop into my office later this afternoon? That should give me enough time to check on the latest shipping lists.’

‘Thank you, sir. I’ll return as soon as I’ve told my mother what I plan to do.’

‘When you come back, just tell the man on the gate you’ve got an appointment with the chairman, then you shouldn’t have any trouble getting past security.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ said Harry, masking a smile.

‘And do pass on my kindest regards to your dear mother. A remarkable woman.’

Harry was reminded why Sir Walter was Old Jack’s closest friend.





Harry walked into the Grand Hotel, a magnificent Victorian building in the centre of the city, and asked the doorman the way to the dining room. He walked across the lobby and was surprised to find a small queue at the ma?tre d’s desk, waiting to be allocated tables. He joined the back of the queue, recalling how his mother had always disapproved of him dropping in to see her at Tilly’s or the Royal Hotel during working hours.

While Harry waited, he looked around the dining room, which was full of chattering people, none of whom looked as if they were anticipating a food shortage, or thinking of enlisting in the armed forces should the country go to war. Food was being whisked in and out of the swing doors on heavily laden silver trays, while a man in a chef’s outfit was wheeling a trolley from table to table, slicing off slivers of beef, while another followed in his wake carrying a gravy boat.

Harry could see no sign of his mother. He was even beginning to wonder if Giles had only told him what he wanted to hear, when suddenly she burst through the swing doors, three plates balanced on her arms. She placed them in front of her customers so deftly they hardly noticed she was there, then returned to the kitchen. She was back a moment later, carrying three vegetable dishes. By the time Harry had reached the front of the queue he’d been reminded of who had given him his boundless energy, uncritical enthusiasm and a spirit that didn’t contemplate defeat. How would he ever be able to repay this remarkable woman for all the sacrifices she had made—