Saturday Snippet and new books

 

Only one new book by friends this week.  Alma Boykin has published the latest in her new "Familiar Generations" series, which continues and expands the saga of her long-running "Familiar Tales" books.  This one's titled "Hunter in Shadow".

The blurb reads:

Odd magic moves in Devon County. Someone is scattering spells in the courthouse. As the year turns to winter, twisted magic stirs, awakened by the mysterious spell caster. Or was it?

Jude Tainuit and his Familiar, Shoim, guard Devon County's magic users, and others. That is, when Jude isn't working at the bakery, helping the herb-wife Martha O'Neil, and wincing at his Familiar's jokes. When Martha makes her claim to a long-abandoned piece of land, dark power moves to stop her.

As mild charm spells become threats, and strange creatures stalk the nights, Jude, Shoim, and their allies struggle to find the source of the trouble. The Hunter in Shadows must act, but how?

It's a very enjoyable book.  My wife and I have already read it, and enjoyed it as a worthy continuation of Alma's series.  Recommended.

Now, on to today's snippet.  A few months ago I came across an amusing naval story that was taken from a book titled "Days of a Dogsbody" by Commander C. A. Jenkins of the Royal Navy.

It was published in 1946, and tells the story of his years in the Navy from just after World War I to the end of World War II.  (For those who don't know Royal Navy slang, "dogsbody" was a widely used term to refer to someone of no particular importance or standing.)  It's amusing and informative, and covers many aspects of Navy service (particularly the lighter side) that more formal histories leave out.  It's been out of print for decades, of course, but one can find used copies if one looks - which I did.

Here are some excerpts from Cdr. Jenkins' account of his early service as a junior officer aboard a minesweeper and a light cruiser during the 1920's.

Confirmed in the rank of Sub-Lieutenant [equivalent to the US Navy's Lieutenant Junior Grade - ed.] after a short spell of leave I found myself appointed to HMS Burslem, a minesweeper of 800 tons and the smallest type of commissioned vessel afloat.

HMS Burslem, a Hunt-class minesweeper (click the image for a larger view)

. . .

Our arrival at Stornoway was quite sensational.  We had called at the Kyle of Lochalsh en route, to embark a pipe band.  As we came alongside the jetty at Stornoway we hardly lived up to that reputation for quiet efficiency which the Navy is supposed to have earned.  The pipe band was playing loudly on board, dogs were fighting loudly on the jetty, every one ashore was loudly cheering and yelling.  They all seemed to be drunk, though the island was officially 'dry'.  Later the Provost explained that the prohibition laws were kept in force by the votes of the numerous owners of illicit stills, whose profits were greater under prohibition.

. . .

While in harbor we had a pretty riotous time, owing to the hospitality ashore and our parties on board.  Because of the latter we very often used to have lights on board in the evening, and just because we liked it we ourselves even went so far as to have an occasional bath.  Both these, lights and baths, were very much against orders in those cheeseparing days, as they used fuel, and eventually our coal figures got well in arrears.  So we had an imaginary day at sea.  We made a signal asking permission to proceed on patrol, we made another reporting our return from patrol.  The chief fudged the engine-room register and I fudged the log, but the ship remained snugly alongside the jetty.  In case you may think that crime pays, I may say that we both found that it was much harder work making the log and the register agree with each other and with imaginary tides and landfalls than it would have been to have gone to sea.

. . .

Another short trip of interest that fell to our lot was the champagne trip to Boulogne.  The official excuse for this voyage, taken annually by some ship of the flotilla, was "to discuss Fishery Protection matters with officers of the French Fishery Protection Service".  The more important duty of the ship concerned was to lay in a stock of champagne and liqueurs sufficient to last the entire minesweeping flotilla, and all the other small ships whom we liked, until the following year.  As thereby champagne could be obtained at 3s. 10d. a bottle [at the time equivalent to less than one US dollar - ed.], and the price of liqueurs was proportionally low, you will appreciate that this was an important annual event.

In my capacity as wardroom wine caterer, a lot of work came my way.  For a fortnight before, I was busy receiving orders from the other ships and, more important and more difficult, trying to persuade other wine caterers to give me some hard cash for the job.  Then there was the adding up of the grand total of each type of liqueur, an astronomical figure, and the rearrangement of the less important articles on board, such as ammunition, in order to provide satisfactory stowage for the real cargo.  At Boulogne itself, for the first and last time in my life, I felt that I was in Big Business when I placed my orders for champagne in terms of grosses (is there such a word?) and liqueurs of all kinds in dozens.  I even thought I detected signs of respectful admiration from the head of the firm from whom I bought them.

[The ship's officers, accompanied by some French officers, went ashore one evening.]

On the way the first lieutenant's whimsical humor entertained us, and presumably himself, although no flicker of fun flitted across his face.  Although the evening was fine, he had decided to carry an umbrella.  Carrying it by the ferrule, and at what with a sword is known as the 'carry', he walked blithely along the pavement.  At intervals the crook would catch on some shop's overhanging blind, and the umbrella remain hanging, while Number One, apparently deep in thought, walked on with his empty hand still in the same position.  With French politeness a passing citizen would unhook it, run after him, and return it with many smiles, bows and flourishes;  Number One would look surprised for a moment, and then beam and thank his benefactor most profusely, apparently laughing at his own absent-mindedness.  The French are a polite race;  on return on board he still had his umbrella.

. . .

Somewhere about this time I promoted myself to Lieutenant, which it is not given to many Sub-Lieutenants to do.  It was very simple.  A curious anomaly which, incidentally, still exists in the Service, is that an officer is not allowed to receive a watch-keeping certificate until he has kept watch for a period of six months.  Further he is not allowed to keep watch unless he has received a watch-keeping certificate.  The normal reaction of the normal Captain is to allow the officer to keep watch, with the knowledge that if a collision or grounding occurs he, the Captain, will be in even worse trouble than otherwise.  I consequently kept watch, as previously mentioned.  After six months I placed before the Captain the two certificates required for promotion to Lieutenant, one my watch-keeping certificate and another to say that I was considered suitable in all respects for the rank of Lieutenant.  As was his custom, he signed them (in quadruplicate or so) without reading them, entertaining me meanwhile, as was also his custom, with some Rabelaisian yarn.  "Thank you, sir," said I, gathering them up with the other correspondence.  "Why this unusual gratitude, Sub?"  "Well, you've just promoted me, sir."

. . .

One of my activities was as the officer qualified in rendering mines safe ... One off Lowestoft, which I had decided would not explode whatever I did to it, exploded most energetically.  After examining it I had decided to lash a couple of small charges alongside and fire them in order to make enough holes to force the mine to sink for ever in deep water.  However, the main charge exploded with the mine on the surface, about four hundred yards from the ship, as far as I can remember, and the lid of the mine - a solid piece of metal about three feet across and one inch thick - went hurtling through the air at the ship.  Luckily it pitched beyond her.

After his promotion, the author was posted to HMS Caledon, a light cruiser.  She was assigned to the Mediterranean Fleet.

While at Gibraltar I made quite a lot of money at the races in this wise.  After losing the usual quota by trying to follow the confident tips of the Maltese messman I determined to try my own system for the last race.  This was the annual "Naval Officers' Scurry".  Now, the majority of the riders in this race had so little idea of riding that I decided that almost anything might happen.  In the first place the start was bound to be a thing of luck as it was impossible to get more than a few starters properly lined up at any one time, or, in fact, to get many of them even heading in the right direction.  In the second place there were so many entrants that the race itself was bound to be a matter of luck, and there would be a good deal of bumping and boring.  In the third place, although this would not affect the issue, the stopping was bound to be a matter of luck in view of the inexperience of the riders (the local population had long ago decided that the Almighty had placed the Mediterranean some half a mile from the finish in order to bring the ponies to a stop when the riders failed to do so, a frequent occurrence).

Backing my belief that anything might happen, I hung about the tote until the book was on the verge of closing and then selected a horse and rider who had so far had no bets at all placed on them.  From a most blatantly false start my fancy got away while the others were still trying to line up, the pony bolted, but the rider hung on - and I collected a very pretty dividend.

. . .

Among other spots we visited the charming village of Volendam, one of the few remaining places where the people wear the picturesque Dutch costumes.  Outside the doors were the clogs of any visitors, as it is not the correct thing to wear them inside the threshold and bring them or mud inside - an idea which is shared by the Japanese.  The moral, of course, is that when visiting either old Holland or Japan one must manage to find a pair of socks without holes before paying calls.

It's a light-hearted and entertaining read.

Peter