NINE
August – December 1904
The train lurched to a stop at Saltash station. Tommy rose unsteadily to his feet and turned to lift down his suitcase from the overhead luggage rack. The train finally stopped as he gripped the single case from over his head and hefted it down onto the floor at his feet. He bent forward to more easily take his first glance through the carriage window at the station, and the life in front of him. The station was quite close to the Devonport dockyard he had been instructed to report to for his induction into the Royal Navy, and at the end of his overnight train journey from Bolton he was excited and a little apprehensive.
The first leg of the train journey from Bolton had taken him to Manchester, where he had then connected with the overnight train to London. In a bewildered frame of mind he had trudged across the city in the early morning light to catch the milk train to the west country city of Plymouth. Now, he was here. Now would begin the first day of his twenty two years of service in the Royal Navy. Stepping down from the train onto the platform he was aware that there appeared to be only two sorts of passengers on the train with him. The first, and most obvious were sailors, decked out in their blue bell bottom trousers and white ribboned tunics and flat caps marked with the name of their ship around the brim. All of them appeared to be carrying white tubular kitbags which they expertly slung over their shoulders, and stepped with a rolling gait to the exit of the station. They all appeared to know each other and chatted amiably amongst themselves as they made their way to the exit door. The other group of people was the one into which Tommy belonged, the single males in civilian clothing. From his first glance it appeared that he was one of the oldest in the group who singly made their way to follow the line of sailors from the station platform. As the group made to the exit they were forced to form into a single line to manage their cases and kitbags through a simple wicket gate at the stations edge. The ticket collector waiting for them at the gate examined and then punched the ticket they offered him. Tommy nodded to the official and followed the straggling line of sailors making their way towards the entrance to the dockyard.
The gateway was impressive, made of very large whitish stones. Two marines in uniform were standing on either side of the opening and carrying long menacing rifles in their hands, preventing anyone entering. At first Tommy thought they were sailors, but they were in fact Royal Marines. He watched ahead of him and learned from their actions what was required of him as the sailors showed one or other of the marines a pass which they fished from an inside pocket of their tunic. Tommy stopped at the end of the short queue behind another civilian and listened to the conversation taking place between the marines and the civilians. The marines were none too polite, and treated the newcomers to His Majesty’s Royal Navy as something rather less than human. Tommy watched as the young man in front of him stopped and tried to speak to the marine.
'Fuck me! Don’t tell me you’re lost already son.' Said the marine. The young man blushed and started to say something.
'Thank fuck we got the marines to fight for the country is all I can say, if this is the best that England can come up with the to join the fucking Navy.' He stood head and shoulders above the unfortunate youth in front of Tommy who was made even taller by the uniform hat he wore. 'You are for the fucking Navy aren’t you son? You wouldn't fucking make it in the Marines,' he asked in a voice dripping with malicious sarcasm. He stuck out his hand to snatch the piece of paper the unfortunate blushing youth held out for the marine's inspection. The marine glanced briefly at the instruction sheet and pointed to a low single storey building a hundred yards away into the main area of the dockyard.
'Think you can manage to get yourself to that nice black door over there my little boy?' The youth nodded from beneath his flushed brow and cheeks and shuffled forward without replying. Tommy stepped forward and held out his joining instruction to the marine, and looked him fiercely in the eye. The marine glanced down again at the sheet and was about to say something equally acidic to Tommy when he realised the man in front of him was some years older than him, and stood just as tall and proudly as he did. For a second he thought about making a comment then decided that it could well be that the man before him was potentially going to be his senior in a short space of time, and thought better of making a sarcastic comment.
'Black door on the right of the first building ahead of you' he said pointing in the direction of the back of the retreating youth who had gone before him. Tommy nodded his thanks silently and strode on into the yard.
The building with the black door was made from the same pale greyish white stone as all the other buildings in the dockyard which he could see stretching out before him to the sea. He stopped before entering the painted door and put his case down on the floor at his feet. Looking around him he could see the decks and masts of various ships in the dockyard and wondered which one he would be appointed to.
The buildings, some of them appearing to be several stories high, some of them single stories, were all made from the same uniform grey stone, and all were painted with the same black tiled roofs, black doors and black drainpipes and gutters. After inspecting his surroundings for a moment he picked up his case and opened the door of the building. Inside it was bare other than for three tables set out in a line close to the far wall from the door he had entered by. Behind each table sat a sailor, and behind them wandered someone who, judging from his uniform, was an officer. From time to time the officer would wander from one desk to the next, peering over the shoulder of the sailor who was questioning the civilian stood before him. After the questioning the sailor would then fill in a form on the table in front of him. Tommy stepped over the threshold of the door and stood motionless for a moment until a voice in an accent he could not recognise shouted from his right hand side.
'Don’t just stand there laddie, move to one of the desks and wait until you’re called.' Tommy looked round to see who was addressing him. It was a sailor who appeared to be almost as round as he was tall but with a fierce looking beard adorning his face.
'Yes sir.' Tommy muttered and moved to the middle of the three desks where it appeared nobody was waiting behind the man sitting at the table. He waited for two or three minutes for the man in front to be processed, aware that the sailor at the door appeared to have no other function other than to scream at the newcomers as they made their entrance through the door into the cold bare room. The chair at the desk in front of him was vacated and the occupant walked off to a door at the far left of his view. Tommy waited at the table before the sailor making the notes. The man looked up from his desk and indicated to Tommy with a nod of the head to sit at the desk. Tommy handed over the forms he had brought with him and the sailor flattened them with one hand whilst glancing at the name on the top of them.
'Thomas Alfred Fletcher Lowe?' he said slowly. 'That you?'
'Yes sir' Tommy replied.
'I’m not a sir,' the sailor answered sharply. 'Don’t fucking call me sir, laddie. I’m a Leading Hand.' Using the pen in his right hand he tapped the small anchor badge on his left upper arm and without comment continued, 'I work too fucking hard to be called a sir.' He continued to read through the information Tommy had supplied on the form.
'Right,' he said finally. 'So, you want to sign up to be an Electrical Artificer then do you?'
'That’s right' Tommy answered. The Leading Hand looked up at him.
'That’s a good job if you can get on it, and from what you’ve put in your ‘Experience’ section, I should think you’ll do it my lad.' He looked at Tommy in the eye and suddenly realised that the man before him was probably the same age or maybe a year older than him.
'Why you joining the Andrew then Thomas Alfred Fletcher Lowe?' Tommy looked silently at the Leading Hand, a quizzical expression on his face.
'The Andrew is what we in the service call the Royal Navy.' The Leading Hand said. 'That's the first thing you have learned, and you’re not even in yet,' he smiled at Tommy. 'First thing is to get you signed up and then get rid of that long bloody name of yours.' He pushed forward a form which had been filled in with Tommy’s details. Tommy read through it and picked up the pen he was offered by the sailor.
'Sign at the bottom Thomas Alfred Fletcher Lowe' he said. Tommy signed. 'Right then. You need to go through that door to your left.' He indicated with his right hand the door at the end of the long room which he had seen the previous man go through. 'You’ll have a medical examination, then if you pass that you’ll wait with the others until the lot of you have finished, then the officer will come and talk to you, and then you’ll swear an oath to the King.' He grinned. 'Then you get the Kings Shilling and you’re in. Any questions?'
Tommy recovered the papers the Leading Hand had pushed across the desk to him and shuffled them into a neat pile.
'What’s this about changing my name?' he asked.
'Well,' The Leading Hand looked him squarely in the face grinning, 'You can’t go through your whole Naval career with a name like Thomas Alfred Fletcher Lowe can you? People would die of thirst trying to say that name every time they want you for something. With initials like you have there is only one name for you isn’t there? From now on you'll be Taff Lowe. Got it?' He sat back in his chair as Tommy flicked his eyes up to those of the Leading Hand. He did not like it, but knew it was a minor, and probably unwise, thing to complain about at this early stage in his service. No sense in making too many enemies so early in life. He nodded and pushed back the chair, rising to his feet.
'Is that all then?' he asked. The Leading Hand nodded and pointed to the door at the far end of the building.
'Off you go then Taff' he said quietly, watching Tommy as he walked away from the table.
The medical examination, it appeared to Taff, was little more than checking that his body contained two of everything where two were required, and one thing where only one was required. It was not as thorough as he had anticipated, and in fact he soon realised that nobody at all was refused admission to the ranks at this stage, provided they could make it to Devonport under their own steam. When the medicals were completed the group of recruits assembled again in the main part of the building. A second Leading Hand came into the room and the men in it fell silent.
'Right you lot. Sit down. Shut up, and listen to what the officer is going to say to you' he said. The men sat down on the lines of chairs set out facing the front of the room. Tommy looked around. There were twenty men in the room. A door at the end of the room opened and an elderly man, or so it seemed to Tommy, came in. He was obviously a senior officer judging by the rings on his cuffs and medal ribbons on his chest. He looked them in the eye, running his eye from one row to another. There followed a long drawn out talk by the officer about the immediate future they could expect on board one of His Majesties ships, and then they took an oath. At that stage, Taff was a mere eight thousand and twenty nine days off retiring from His Majesty's Royal Navy.
Although the whole day had been quite long and involved a lot of waiting around, or so it seemed, Taff was still excited at the end of the day with all that he had been through. Until, that was, he saw the ship he had been assigned to for his initial training. HMS Defiance lay in the bay off the edge of the dockyard, and it was made of wood. Not only was it made of wood, but the deck was flat, having had all the masts removed and a simple roofed superstructure constructed over the back half of the ship. His heart sank. Taff was dismayed when he saw it, feeling that although it was a training ship, it should have been more up to date than one made of wood. He learned more when he eventually settled in on board the ship. It was a specialist training ship for those wishing to become electrical trades specialists, which for the Navy included torpedoes, but this was some months off. This fact alone excited him, as he knew that once his training was complete he would be posted to more or less anywhere he wished within the Navy, and already Thomas had his eye set on the warmer exciting climate of the Pacific Ocean.
What came to him as a great relief however, was when the officer in charge of their initial reception made it clear that what appeared to be a Napoleonic wreck lying offshore was anything but that. Although it was the last wooden ship constructed for the British Navy, and had never ‘fired a shot in anger,’ it was in fact simply there to provide accommodation for those men doing training courses in the electrical and torpedo trades. For their initial training as sailors, they would live in barrack style buildings in Devonport.
During his period of initial training, when they taught him how to be a sailor, Taff made quite a good name for himself, and impressed those who taught him. His previous work experience in the mills of Bolton had taught him much more than simply how to pick up new skills and habits. More importantly it had taught him how to ‘keep his nose clean,’ which in turn made him a popular figure with other more senior ranks. Other than being something of a guide and example to the younger men, it came to be known that Taff Lowe could be trusted to do a job properly and efficiently with the minimum of supervision, which in turn meant that those supervising him had an easy time. He picked up quickly any instructions given to him and the group he trained with, and carried out instructions promptly to their satisfaction. Taff progressed.
He learned where and what the ‘heads’ were. How and why his bellbottomed trousers had to be ironed so that creases went horizontally across the width of the leg and not down the middle like other services. How to tie the ribbon on his cap, and how not to wear it at an angle on his head, unless he wished to earn the scorn and wrath of the Pusser, and what a Pusser was, together with the other ranks onboard the ships in which he would serve. He learned the history of the navy. He understood about his mess and divisions and how to keep out of the way of punishment for peccadilloes and misdemeanours. He learned also the joy of the daily rum ‘Tot’ and why younger sailors were not given a full ‘Tot’ but one weakened with water. He learned the mess desk traditions between friends of ‘sipper’s and ‘gulpers,’ and the hours of fun to be had playing ‘uckers.’ He learned why the service he had entered was also called ‘the Andrew,’ or the ‘Grey funnel Line,’ and why he was known as ‘Jack.' During the initial training period he came more and more to love the traditions of the navy and its history, and became proud of the service he had entered, proud to salute the quarter deck each time he came onboard and to understand why he did it.
During his free time he discovered, with his newly found friends in the service, the joys and pitfalls of the local pubs in Plymouth and Devonport, and in so doing made new friends from outside the service, perhaps because of his age, and perhaps his previous life in the north of the country. Yet, despite all the things he was forced to learn, all the tricks he picked up and the habits he formed, he did not forget the beautiful young girl he had left behind at home in Bolton. He wrote to Florence two or three times a week, sometimes long letters telling her everything about his new life, sometimes they were short ones when time was short and he was forced to rush from one instructional class to another. Each letter was received gladly by Florence and she replied to each one as soon as she received it. Finally, in one which arrived during late September, he spoke to her about the end of his initial training period when he would be granted a week's leave. He suggested to her that she catch the train down to Devonport to spend the week with her, and that they would be married.
The day the letter arrived Florence read it through twice before slowly folding the two pages and replacing them in the envelope in which they had arrived. She placed the envelope on the kitchen table where she and her father had been sat and where her mother had been cooking their tea. Her youngest brother Victor, then aged five, was playing around her feet under the table. She kicked out at him gently as he rolled over onto his back and on her foot.
'Will you stop it!' she snapped. Her father looked sideways at her from his evening paper.
'What’s up with you lass?' he asked, eyeing the envelope on the table. 'Bad news from Tommy?' Florence nudged Victor again with her toe.
'No, nothing like that Pa.' She paused, wondering how she was going to break the news of Tommy’s suggestion to her parents. William Henry stared at her silently, realising that there had been something in the letter which had disturbed her, but did not want to push her to disclose the contents of the letter until she was ready. Florence looked at him for a moment, then her eyes dropped to the envelope on the table, she nudged it with her fingers.
'It’s Tommy,' she began. On hearing her future son in law's name her mother turned from the kitchen sink, her hands holding a potato peeler and a potato. She paused in her work.
'What’s wrong with him love?' she asked quietly. 'Is he alright? He's not sick is he?'
'Oh there’s nothing wrong with him, he’s fine. Seems to be doing right well with his training.' Florence paused and picked at the corner of the envelope with her finger nail. She took a deep breath. 'He wants me to go and stay with him in Devonport for a week when he finishes his training, before he starts his electricians training.' She felt both her parents intake of breath and continued, 'And he wants us to be married in a church in Plymouth.' She broke into a wide smile. 'What do you think Ma?'
Harriet glanced across the small room to her husband, who folded the Bolton Evening News and tucked it down by the side of the cushion on which he was seated. They exchanged glances, and in those glances, like all long married couples, exchanged their own thoughts and opinions. William Henry nodded his head imperceptibly and Harriet briefly nodded hers in agreement.
'Well, if he can’t get home then, I think it’s a grand idea love. It's not as though it's a new idea is it?' Harriet replied, smiling sideways at her daughter.
............................................................
The countryside dashed alongside the train in an apparently unending scrolled picture. Florence sat alone, perched on the edge of the bench seat in the second class compartment. She had the compartment to herself and had selected the seat closest to the window for the whole of the journey to London. In the last letter he had written to her, Tommy had given her detailed instructions about how to cross London to get to the correct railway station to connect with her train to Plymouth. Silently she repeated the written instructions in her mind as the train barrelled on. Towns she had never seen, fields and buildings she had never known exist rolled on and on, occasionally making her feel drowsy enough to want to close her eyes, but this was the biggest journey she had ever made and she wanted to inhale with her eyes all the different scenes unfolding before her. After an hour though the tiredness overtook her and she settled back in the seat and temporarily closed her eyes. It was just enough to make her fall asleep.
When she woke it was the slowing down of the train, and the change in the rhythm of the wheels on the tracks, which awoke her. She started awake and in a panic wondered if she had missed her station, then smiled to herself when she realised that the train journey ended at London, so she couldn’t have overslept. When eventually the train stopped at the station in London she was already standing with her small suitcase at the door of the train waiting for a guard to open it and allow her onto the platform. The door opened and a gust of air filled with different strange smells forced their way into the train from the station platform. She glanced down and carefully placed one foot on the step down from the train onto the platform, then joined the crowd of people who had already started to walk to the exit of the station. For a moment she wondered if she was doing the right thing, following the crowd off the station. She mentally nudged herself as she guessed that these would be regular travellers, and it was only she who was a complete newcomer to London. They knew where they were going, so it would be fine to follow them. Despite the warnings from her father about the dangers rife on the streets of the city, she felt as safe and confident as would be normal for a young inexperienced woman of her age. Youth gave her the confidence to know absolutely that nothing would harm her, she was invincible. Her lack of experience gave her the confidence to walk smartly along with her head held high. She was on her way to become a married woman. To become the wife of a member of His Majesty's Royal Navy. Nothing could harm her. She walked on with confidence and a lively spring in her step. She carried the small case in her hand, negotiating the streets from one station to the other, but became increasingly fatigued as time wore on and the warmth of the city streets wore her down. In the end she decided to take a cab to the Metropolitan Terminus of the Great Western Railway at Paddington where she sat down thankfully on a bench on the crowded concourse, to await the afternoon train to Plymouth.
As she sat on the seat against the wall of the station, she arranged her coat around her to ward off the draughts coming, it appeared, from every direction around her. Craning her head to look at the curved roof high above her head she marvelled at the enormous length of the station and its four platforms, crowded with people, porters, ticket collectors, luggage trucks and small mountains of baggage. Having purchased her ticket in the booking hall, she went through onto the platform concourse where she found a seat amongst the crowds of people leaving the station and others, like her, waiting for their train. She glanced at her ticket and then looked around to find an indication as to where her train, The Cornishman, would leave from. Unable to see the timetable display she rose from her seat and approached a stern looking man wearing the uniform of the Great Western and stopped in front of him.
'Excuse me Sir,' she said, looking up into his face and under the peak of the flat cap her wore perched on the back of his head. He looked down at her and smiled.
'Yes Madam' he said, 'Can I help you?'
'The Cornishman. Do you know what platform it goes from please?' Florence asked. He looked at her quizzically and smiled again.
'From the north are you?' he asked, finally placing her accent.
'Yes Sir. Bolton in Lancashire. I’m goin' to Plymouth to see my fiancé. We’re goin' to be married.' His face glowed with a warm friendly smile.
'Well then my dear, we can’t have you late for the Cornishman can we?' His accent sounded strange to her ears. It was Cockney she supposed. He half turned and pointed his arm along one of the platforms. 'It’s that platform over there, number four. Train will be leaving in about twenty minutes, spot on time.' Florence followed his pointed direction and nodded.
'Thank you sir.' She said and started to move off towards the end of the platform he had directed her to.
She sat again on one of the benches by the side wall of the station and watched and waited until her train arrived in the station. The Cornishman was immediately recognisable from its name clearly displayed on the front and side of the engine, as well as on the roof boards above the windows on the sides of its carriages. A thrill of anticipation shivered through her as she looked at the beautiful carriages, so much more resplendent than the Lancashire and Yorkshire drab colours she had ridden from Bolton. This is it, she thought. The last leg of the journey. Soon be seeing Tommy again. Lifting her suitcase in her hand she made her way into one of the second class carriages, placed her small case in the net luggage rack above the seats and settled down again in a corner seat to begin the long journey to Plymouth.
Long though it was, there were times when she became physically sick and frightened by the speed at which the train travelled. At times the view from her window was nothing more than a blur of colours and shapes, she could not even make out the buildings they passed, unless she concentrated her eyes on the far horizon. When she attempted to look at objects or buildings close to the track they were so blurred by the speed that they were unrecognisable. There was no one else in her carriage to calm her fears, until a conductor opened the door into the compartment and requested her ticket. Florence fumbled in her pocket and handed over the ticket to the conductor.
'How fast are we going Sir?' she asked the man in as strong a voice as she could muster. The man smiled kindly at her and, realised that she was unaccustomed to the speed of modern trains. Grinning at her with cheeky eyes he asked her,
'Well young lady, what speed do you think we have been doing then?' His accent seemed strange, almost foreign, to Florence's ear. To anyone who knew, they would recognise his West Country accent. Florence thought it warm and fuzzy and smiled back at him. She had no idea of the speed at which they were travelling.
'I don’t know sir,' she said softly, her Lancashire accent striking his ear strangely.
'Well, at some points on the journey we will be doing a hundred miles an hour, but we are normally doing about sixty to seventy miles an hour.' Florence was speechless and looked fearfully out of the window and her hand reached out to steady herself on the window sill.
'So fast?' she asked incredulously, her eyes wide and disbelieving.
'Yes really Miss. One hundred miles an hour downhill into Somerset. But we’re not there yet, so don’t you worry yourself. The Great Western has a very good safety record. The train driver would not go so fast as to make it dangerous for you. Not if I tell him there is a pretty young lady in second class who is worried for her safety.' He paused and smiled at her. Florence blushed at the familiarity from the stranger but did not feel ill at ease. She nodded her head.
'Thank you Sir.' She said softly and glanced back at the blurring images through the window.
Several hours later, as the train carved its swift way through the countryside of the south of England, she caught sight of the sea in the distance beyond the hills to the left of the railway line. The sudden glimpses of water in the distance made her heart tumble and race. It would not be long now before she would see her Tommy again. As the distance to Plymouth grew less and less, the sky grew darker and darker in the mid November light, until the sky merged with the sea, and could only be distinguished by the lights from buildings near to the sea, and those of lights on ships on the ocean. Overhead the sky became a thick cloud ridden blanket, and night fell over the whole of the countryside. Florence could soon see nothing beyond the train other than her own reflection in the carriage window by her side. The darkening sky made a mirror of the plain glass. Try as she might, she was unable to make out any detail in the fleeting countryside, and so settled down to wait patiently for the time when the train would pull into Plymouth station.
Once the light had failed completely she tried to sit calmly and simply watch the occasional light from the window and her flickering reflection in its glass, wondering from time to time where exactly she was. A panic stricken thought wormed itself into her mind. What if Tommy was not there? What if he had ditched her and was not waiting for her at the station? She sat nervously on the edge of the seat, sweat breaking out on her brow. A sob broke from her throat and she felt her heart racing as the thoughts hit her. She was lost in a mixture of horrible tormenting thoughts when the train started to slow as it prepared to arrive at Plymouth station. She heard the brakes screech and the rhythm of the wheels change, as the train slowly came to a juddering halt under the wooden canopy of the platform. Lights showed her the outline of buildings, doorways into waiting rooms and ticket offices. People moved easily along the platforms looking for and finding their trains and destinations. Conductors and station clerks, and men wheeling small carts with luggage piled high on them, dodged each other and the passengers waiting for their trains. Florence rose from her seat and turned to lift the case from above her head. As the train came to a final halt she lurched forward, her knees banging against the seat. Finally it stopped, and taking her suitcase, she went to leave the train.
On the station platform Taff waited for the train from London. Having paid a penny for a platform ticket from the ticket office, he discovered that he was one of several sailors waiting on the platform. Good natured banter flowed from one small group standing a few yards along the platform from Taff. He stood alone and ignored them, his patience wearing thinner and thinner as their banter started to annoy him, and the cold November weather conspired to annoy him even more. After some thirty or more minutes the sound of the train approaching the station cheered his spirits and he moved slowly towards the edge of the platform to catch a first glimpse of his Flo.
The train pulled to a huffing puffing halt close to the edge of the platform, and the small crowd of sailors and others instinctively moved back a little, to allow the doors to be opened and the passengers alight. The doors opened one by one along the length of the train Taff, and strained to try and catch a first glimpse of his future wife, and suddenly there she was. Smaller than he remembered, but just as pretty. She was wearing her long woollen coat and had clamped a wide brimmed hat to her head, as the wind from the station threatened to steal it from her. Taff pushed through the small crowd before him to half run and half trot to finally stand in front of her. She spotted him as he moved towards her in the darkness, his form made clear only when he passed by one of the open doorways of the waiting rooms, and then into darkness again, an almost formless, but recognisable, shadow moving towards her. She stopped in the middle of the platform and placed her suitcase carefully on it then opened her arms to welcome him to her. Taff stopped in front of her and for a second looked into her eyes and smiled widely.
'Hello love. You are a sight for sore eyes.' He said smiling. She grinned at him and threw her arms around his neck planting a kiss on his cheek.
'Hello Tommy love. You don’t know how much I’ve been looking forward to seeing you again.' Florence said, the thoughts and fears of a few minutes ago now gone completely from her head. She was here, and so was her Tommy.
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