Chapter 4 - Southend Pier

There were several reports circulating Southend that morning about a couple lying in a rubber dinghy off the pier and constable Wool, a God fearing Presbyterian preacher, was finding any reason he could to put off investigating these reports for as long as he could in the hope he would get there too late to witness anything which may cause him to stir the animal in his loin. It is widely known to have lain dormant since he found his calling some ten years ago, he is oblivious to the fact that his daughter is now about to have her seventh birthday party and that the immaculate conception is not usually known in the backstreets of Southend and he may perhaps be able to attribute his daughters youth more to the nightly visits, whilst he is on late shift, of the Southend football team. Her dark skin colour is perhaps more attributable to the ancestry of the full back of the team who are derived from the West Indies than the fresh sea air coming up the Thames estuary. By the time that Constable Wool had arrived at the pier the boat was empty and Carruthers was nowhere to be seen. Nevertheless it was with a certain trepidation that he steeled himself to peer over the side of the railings just in case he hadn’t found a sufficient list of jobs to do to keep him occupied until the business had been done.
The young people of Southend would taunt him regularly and try and lure him down the back alleys of Southend’s less affluent areas only to be surrounded by flashers of all shapes and sizes. “Halt in the name of the law “, did seem to lose some of its gravitas when shouted by a cowering constable trying desperately not to peer between his fingers at the scenes which were before him. His reports on the incidents did contain large portions of blank paper where he claimed to have written detail in his mind so that only he and the Lord would know the levels of depravity going on in his town and prevent anyone from reading his sordid accounts. The truth was that he was unable to understand most of what he witnessed and didn’t want to let anyone know of his woeful inexperience in matters carnal. A fact borne out by his inability to understand that his daughter’s youthful age could be a matter of some concern if he indeed had not experienced the wicked ways of lust and temptation for the ten full years that he proclaimed weekly from the pulpit.
Having learnt, from opening and reading the General’s letters as was his custom, purely on a need to know basis, of Carruthers and agent Juliana being jettisoned from the submarine for Carruthers suspected bad behaviour, Gideon felt that there was a possibility of some serious ‘tutting’ to be done at his former colleagues expense and he jumped aboard the first train that could take him anywhere near Southend. Arriving in the town the following morning and hearing of the couple in the boat tied to the end of the pier, Gideon was immediately off to see whether there were any charges that Carruthers could be placed on. Having arrived on the pier and realising that Carruthers was already elsewhere, Gideon proceeded to ‘inspect’ the lifeboat house. There was a lot there he could report on and even sharpened his pencil for the occasion. Armed with his clipboard, his freshly sharpened pencil, a ream of paper and a tape measure he gleefully set about his self appointed task and busily measured and tutted his way around the life boat station. Having found several wellington boots and oilskins seriously out of line in their racks he felt a great sense of achievement which inspired him to inspect further and clamber aboard the life boat itself. No sooner had he done so than a manic scream and laughter emitted from the shadows at the back of the shed. With a shout of “Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeee” the lifeboat and Gideon were launched down the ramps with great speed and a lot of splashing. Momentum lost and no engine running to propel the boat further forward, it soon drifted aimlessly away from the shoreline with one Gideon frantically making notes and placing himself on a charge. He hadn’t found Carruthers although he had certainly felt the effect, but his day certainly was not a waste as he had at least managed to place someone on a charge.
To the untrained and unconnected it would seem that hostilities were in fact still very much on going and to one Jimmie Spurt, an aged gentleman, hard of hearing, with poor vision and too obstinate to acknowledge it or do anything about it, the Gerry’s were indeed making their latest attempt at world domination by preventing the paddle steamers from docking at Southend pier. Jimmie had been in the Home Guard after a distinguished career in the British Army serving in several campaigns. Distinguished, that is, by a total lack of distinction and the campaigns were in fact as an admin assistant in several recruitment drives by the army, but by the selective omission of key facts he felt he had earned the right to strut down the promenade telling the youth of the town how they should respect someone of his experience. A sinking feeling had descended over a once buoyant mood within the Home Guard platoon when he informed them it was his duty to avail them of his experience and join up. But a quick thinking Captain placed him in an ‘important position necessary for the protection of His Majesty’s kingdom’, the truth was that Whitehall had decreed that Southend Pier was a likely point of invasion, presumably because the last mile to the shore would have been by train. So at great expense a gun had been sited at the end of the pier to scare off any Gerry warship which had got lost in the channel and which no-one had so far been pissed enough to volunteer to man. So private Jimmie Spurt was given sole charge of the thing and the only live round that could be found to fit an obsolete model such as this, the end of the Pier became a no-go zone until well after the end of the war. With his poor sight there was generally felt to be no guarantee which way he was pointing it and being a mile out to sea there was a good chance in the event of a firing it may miss the town either way. With Jimmie well employed at the end of the pier the rest of the town became a more peaceable place, so he was left on guard for sometime after hostilities ended. Carruthers, having had great fun launching the lifeboat was now looking around for more to launch down the slip way and settled upon the new delivery of fuel and oil for the lifeboat in large drums and was amusing himself further by launching these. To Jimmie Spurt these were depth charges that hadn’t sunk and the whole pier was once again at war with what for him had always been an unseen enemy. The gun emplacement was still at the end of the pier and Jimmie always had the key in his waistcoat pocket and began fumbling in his pocket as he shuffled with a sense of urgency down the length of the pier to his beloved gun. With only the one round ever to be found that would fit the gun it had been guarded carefully by Jimmie throughout although on one occasion it had been fired at a passing seagull by a bored eighteen year old delinquent who had been sent down to the end of the pier more as a punishment for some misdemeanour on a Friday night than for any recognition of talent or responsibility. The round failed to go off and landed with a large plop in the sea and for a week after that, at low tides Jimmie could be seen wandering the mud flats looking for it. His searches were eventually rewarded and the thing was restored and recharged and replaced back in his ammo box on the pier. The ammo box had been left with the gun, presumably for collection and destruction along with the gun when eventually the war office remembered it was there. Jimmie excitedly unlocked the chains from around his gun and with a sense of pride brushed the seagull nest from the breach and fought off the disgruntled incumbent as he slid the round into the breach and scanned the horizon for the warship responsible. The only dark hazy shape he could see within range must, in his opinion, have been the vessel responsible for these depth charges floating around the pier and so took careful aim at a coal barge making its way to the town gas pier. With his tongue curling out of the corner of his mouth in concentration and his hand all of a quiver with a sense of anticipation he squeezed the trigger! So with a characteristic ‘Wump!’ of the gun firing, the shell left the barrel and lodged itself in the rudder of the barge, the shell hadn’t exploded on its last firing and really was not expected to on this occasion, so living up to expectation, that’s exactly where it stayed; intact! This did have a slightly destabilising effect on the general performance of the barge, limiting it to its current rudder direction, plus or minus a couple of degrees! This left it in a gradual arc around the end of the pier and then straight through the pier structure about half way down leaving Jimmie and Carruthers on an instantly man-made island of steel and timber. This left Carruthers marooned with someone who was arguably as big an idiot as he was and Juliana having gone for help to get Carruthers off the pier was on the land side of what was now a gaping hole in the pier decking. Carruthers found the whole situation hysterical, Jimmie Spurt found the whole situation intolerable and was writing letters to MP’s, the King and the War Office on the back of his ammo box, Juliana was getting more concerned by the minute as Carruthers medication would soon start to wear off. Gideon was absolutely beside himself on the life boat as from his vantage point he had witnessed in his estimation at least eight occasions where Kings Orders had been contravened during the incident(s) and he felt sure that there must have been several naval rules broken during the removal of 70 feet of bridge decking and about thirty piles although that would need clarification when he could speak to the proper authorities. There could be an opportunity here to find a high ranking officer to tut beside.

Chapter 3 - Dogger Bank

The submarine restocked with essentials and fuel, Carruthers medication replenished and the dose readjusted, the submarine put to sea once again on the evening tide It slipped its moorings and sailed out into the Thames estuary with a new bow mascot at its head, an accessory not usually to be found on a submersible! However, no naval vessel has ever had a bow mascot shaped like Carruthers. He was sat at the very front of the bow on a deck chair with a mug of tea clutched in his hands and an excited look in his eye with an air of excitement about his general demeanour. Juliana seemed to have given up trying to get him to go below and joined him on the bow. They cut a striking silhouette against the evening sun as they headed out towards the dark and foreboding North Sea and the crew were getting impatient with their cargo as they were anxious to get the vessel below the surface. They started the process by lowering the sub in the water inch by inch until the sea was breaking over the bow and Carruthers was getting more than just a little damp. Eventually he was left with no option but to abandon his seat and get below deck as it was swept over the side, ironically this was the first debris over the side that was due to the actions of the crew! Caruthers and Juliana safely aboard, the hatch in the conning tower was closed as the sub finally disappeared below the surface. Satisfied that all was now well, and his vessel was safe and secure, Cap’n Hand retired to his bunk after a long day. Sitting in his bunk writing his log, which was considerably longer than was customary and sipping occasionally at his evening cocoa the Captain was beginning to relax. With a loud grinding sound that shook throughout the vessel everything ground to a halt sending people and equipment flying. The Captain’s cocoa was no exception as the contents of his mug left another suspicious looking stain over the top of his bedding! Struggling to find his trousers amid all the debris that once adorned the shelves of his cabin, Cap’n Hand made his way through the noise and confusion to the bridge to find out what on earth had happened. The first mate was on the bridge already when he arrived and the helmsman who was a pimply youth was stood in the corner with a tear in his eye and quietly wetting himself as he awaited the inevitable shouting and finger pointing that would surely have been coming his way. A quick check had confirmed that Carruthers and Juliana were most definitely in their cabin and were unlikely to have had anything to do with this particular incident. The charts and readings were putting the sub in deep water and with plenty of it below them. However everything else was telling them that the sub was partly buried in a large sand bank! Carruthers was the model of surprise and concern when informed of their current predicament. Cap’n Hand tried every trick that his years of experience had taught him to extricate his vessel from its position. After what seemed an age and much revving off engines and groaning of the structure of the sub, the Captain blew the tanks, much to Carruthers delight at the whooshing sound and bubbles emanating from outside and the sub slowly broke free and rose to the surface. A quick look outside revealed them to be nowhere near where they thought they were. Charts, instruments and the helmsman, who was by now sobbing profusely, more because no-one had yet pointed the finger of blame at him and he reasoned that it just gave the dressing down that was surely heading his way time to build the longer it was put off, were all saying they were in the middle of Black Deep, when everything else was pointing to the likelihood that the dark brooding shape above them could actually have been a pier. There was nothing to do, with the tide receding fast but to wait until morning high tide before trying to find a way off the sand bank. The helmsman was by now pleading to be given his bollocking and as the Captain was heading back to his cabin with a deep frown on his forehead, grumbling, the young helmsman was seen to be hanging from Cap’n Hands trouser hem whimpering “Please tell me off. Please!”

No-one slept much that night. The general assumption was that the whole affair had to be something to do with Carruthers, largely borne out by the sniggering that was emanating from Carruthers cabin all night long. The mystery was what did he do and how did he do it? The Captain emerged from his cabin at first light having not slept a wink that night. He was slightly troubled by the way that his crew were saluting him with the faintest crack of a smirk across their faces. Not really caring what amused them he shuffled onto the bridge where Carruthers was already sitting in his chair making infantile explosive raspberry noises intended to in some way mimic the sound of the tanks blowing. With a mouth full of tea he turned and saw Cap’n Hand walking towards him and let out a loud and explosive snigger and a spray of hot tea. Barking out an irritable order to remove the fool from his bridge his crew turned towards him and they too were trying to stifle a long series of loud giggles. This all did nothing to improve his temper as the crews giggles broke and turned into gales of laughter. He chose to ignore the childishness of his crew and carried on about his early morning chores on the bridge of his vessel. Whilst studying the radar to make some sense of his vessels predicament he happened to notice his own reflection in the screen. Across his forehead in ink, in perfect backwards writing, was the word “Turmoil”. Carruthers roars of laughter and much thigh slapping made Cap’n Hand’s frame of mind and he shuffled off and up the conning tower to see with the benefit of daylight where exactly they were.

Daylight had indeed arrived when he looked outside and a proper search of the horizon revealed a pier looking remarkably like the one off Southend directly above them. Carruthers general demeanour that morning as he skipped from deck to deck on board the sub aroused certain suspicions with many on board despite Nurse Juliana’s protests that he had been in bed with her all night that perhaps, just maybe, he may have had nothing to do with the position they now found themselves in. A more detailed examination of the surface world outside the sub revealed that it was indeed Southend Pier above them. Turning to the charts revealed that the sub was indeed in deep water but in daylight the chart numbers had been crudely altered with a crayon. There was only one person on board who would have been issued with crayons to prevent accidents or self harm and he was now skipping around the deck outside waving in a demented fashion to the disbelieving crowd gathering on the pier deck above. Cap’n Hand had seen and been the victim of enough! Carruthers, friend of the King or not, would not be traveling to Russia on board his sub! He abandoned Carruthers and Juliana on an inflatable life raft tied to the legs of Southend Pier as the sub, with the aid of a high spring tide, floated clear of the sand bank that had ensnared them during the night and disappeared out into the mouth of the Thames estuary and then sank below the waves in deeper water. Carruthers meanwhile was so traumatized by the rejection that he had once again assumed the fetal position with thumb in mouth in the bottom of the inflatable life raft.

Chapter 2 - The Journey.

Within the sub things went into their usual automatic mode when submerged, with submariners running along corridors and sliding down stairs and swinging through bulkhead hatches all to the rhythmic ping of the sonar.

The captain, one Captain Hand ran a relaxed ship where everyone knew their job and got on with it. Each crew member had a kind of inner knowing that all things in the ship were taken care of and he just needed to do his own bit well and everything else went on around him. Carruthers found the Captains’ name a great source of hilarity and made frequent jokes about going ‘cap in hand’, clearly thinking he was the first to have thought of it. Cap’n Hand settled back into his very own chair in the middle of the bridge. He had had that chair since his very first commission and was the only thing that had been saved when it was rammed by a German battle cruiser in the Dover Straits. It had become a kind of lucky mascot for him and his crew. Soon into the journey a worrying second ping came very loud and clear from the sonar, yet the operator seemed unable to get a fix on it. Cap’n Hand changed course to try and get a better angle on it but still the second ping refused to go away or reveal its true whereabouts. Cap’n Hand began to take on a more serious demeanor as he ordered the sub to rise to periscope depth. A quick look around revealed no unexpected ship in sight and yet the ping seemed to become louder and even vary its sound occasionally.

Starting to recall some of his wartime tactics, Cap’n Hand ordered battle stations and dived down till the sub was nearly sitting on the bottom of the English Channel where he ordered all engines to stop. The entire crew waited with baited breath, listening for the next ping. Some of the crew were even said to be listening for the depth charges to be dropped. Perhaps the ruddy Ruskies were on to them already and were trying to destroy England's latest secret weapon before he left English coastal waters!

In the eerie silence at the bottom of the ocean a team of men waited whilst the sonar operator struggled to identify the second ping. As suddenly as it had started, the second pinging stopped, to be replaced by a stifled giggle and then by uncontrollable laughter. A quick search of the bridge revealed Carruthers with tears of mirth running down his cheek and a milk bottle in one hand and a spanner in the other, hiding in the dark corner beside the sonar. Juliana was summoned from their cabin to escort her colleague back with strict instructions that she should keep a better eye on him.

As those long legs strode through the length of the sub, seamen descended into a kind of disorganised blob of testosterone and after retrieving her charge and partner her return journey had a very similar effect coupled with a mixture of lust and envy, and sheer disbelief that she had chosen Carruthers as her bed mate. Carruthers of course was oblivious to the effect that he and Juliana were having, albeit for entirely different reasons, on the crew of the sub as he lumbered ape like through the corridors.

Carruthers was again firmly ensconced in the arms of his lover within the safety of their cabin. The safety implied, related more to the crew and the English Channel than it did to Carruthers although, as it turned out, the English Channel was not going to prove a particularly safe place to be.

The radar room was soon suspected of once again being the target of Carruthers mischief as another unexpected sonar return pinged around the room. A thorough search of the room relieved Cap’n Hand somewhat as no sign of Carruthers was found and a quick glance through the curtain into Carruthers and Juliana’s cabin revealed a very large hump in the middle of the bunk considerably bigger than the lithe form of Juliana could have created and discretion forbade the submariner from searching further. Soon, a further return pinged around the sonar room and again faded into the distance as had the first. Then another followed the same course and another and another. This was quite unlike anything that Cap’n Hand had ever encountered in twenty years occupying that eerie and unseeable world of the submarine. The First Mate was called from his bunk to see what he made of the strange returns being heard from the sonar. Likewise, he could not make head or tail of what they were hearing as yet another return was heard pinging its way into oblivion. Again Carruthers was suspected of somehow being behind the strange anomaly but another look behind the curtain into Carruthers and Juliana’s bunk again revealed a very large bump in the middle of the bunk and discretion once again forbade further investigation. However when the search party returned to the bridge some of the seats were missing! They had been gone for only minutes so where had the seats gone? The question had only the briefest time span at the forefront of their minds before their attention was caught by further sonar returns, this time on both sides of the submarine. What were they and where were they coming from? Some kind of answer was offered when the galley reported the loss of a large quantity of kitchen equipment. Was the reported loss of growing quantities of equipment connected to the sonar returns plaguing this mission? Cap’n Hand stood up and paced the half lit bridge, his hands rubbing his bearded chin thoughtfully as he did so whilst he tried to make some sense of what was happening. The First Mate was somewhat surprised to peer over his desk and see nothing but the Cap’n’s feet waving above the furniture where only moments before the Cap’n had been standing. Jumping up to the assistance of his friend and idol discovered the reason for his predicament. His chair, the one which had been with him since its rescue after the ramming of his first commission by a German battle cruiser, was missing and had become so in a time window brief enough to have only allowed Cap’n Hand to have taken just a few steps whilst he pondered over the matter in hand.

The mystery was, that no-one else had entered or left the bridge, let alone carried a chair with him.

Another return from the sonar faded into the distance as the sub powered its way into the Straits of Dover. Being a busy stretch of water and not always the deepest around, everyone needed to be on their most watchful and attentive behaviour and distractions like they were currently experiencing would not be helpful. Ahead they could hear the steady throb of the ships engines of one of the new cross channel ferries and a heightened state of awareness spread across the bridge. The distinctive sound of a torpedo being unleashed sent a shudder through the entire crew and then another. Cap’n Hand bellowed in an uncharacteristic show of temper, “Who gave that bloody order?!”

On board the channel ferry was a veteran of several war campaigns who had bitten the anchor as far as he was concerned and taken what he described as a shore based job. Twenty odd miles each way was no distance to a man whose previous existence had seen him on voyages measured in weeks rather than miles. This had been left far behind him when he took this job and Hitler had cancelled the war due to lack of interest. But a casual glance out of the starboard window of the bridge had revealed a spectacle not entirely resembling a peaceful sight. Heading for the side of his ship was what for all the world appeared to be not one but two trails in the water not dissimilar in any way to those left behind by a torpedo! And it was heading for the side of his ship!

On board the crossing were a group of clergymen heading on a pilgrimage to Lourdes. Lead by Father Andrew who had been keen to take advantage of his proximity to the channel ports when taking part in wishing Carruthers bon voyage, had summoned a few of his former ecclesiastical college friends and were heading off on a kind of Sunday school outing. Father Andrew was dragging his now customary barrel of holy water round from table to table in the lounge area and was currently trying to douse a lady of considerable social standing in holy water. Although to be fair, social standing would be the only kind she was currently capable of, being a little the worse the wear for drink. A condition which from the reactions of the bar staff and her own valet would be one she was well accustomed to. Father Andrew always being one who was up for a challenge whenever he felt the good Lord placed one in front of him rose to this one and began by throwing large quantities of holy water over the troubled lady. This, perhaps expectedly, produced a less than favourable response from his victim which Father Andrew had chosen to see as being the devil within reacting to the Holy Water currently raining down upon it and proceeded to carry out the first ever exorcism on a cross channel ferry. The lady concerned was taking particular exception to Father Andrews apparent attempt to rape her and began screaming wildly and incoherently as she thrashed about trying to rid herself of the clutches of this most rampant and persistent of rapists.

On the bridge the Captain’s instinct took charge whilst all around him there was panic and swung the ship hard to starboard trying to aim the bows straight at the missiles. Throwing a large vessel such as this hard anywhere whilst traveling at full speed was always going to be one that would have a destablilising effect on any on board at the time, none more so than a clergyman and his victim during a particularly strenuous attempt to evict Lucifer from a drunken old lady! Outside, due to the Captains quick thinking and experience the two torpedoes passed harmlessly either side and embedded themselves deep into a sandbank doubtless to cause further mayhem when they were re-discovered at a later date. Inside however was a little different; the sudden healing over of the ship and equally sudden righting of it had thrown both Father Andrew and the lady to the floor. Father Andrew was flat on his back screaming at the top of his voice “Unhand me Satan!” brandishing his cross and frantically trying to reach for his bottle of holy water. The lady on the other hand was sat astride the cleric jumping up and down and wriggling about frantically shouting at the top of her voice, “Rape, rape!” Given the position of the pair of them none of the bystanders were quite certain whether she felt she was being raped or was doing the raping and wanted everyone else to witness the act. Security was summoned and the pair were dragged apart. Father Andrew for his part, as soon as he had been released lunged for his barrel of holy water and tipped the entire contents over himself. The lady, apparently a distant cousin of The King and somewhat more sober for her little experience, stood up, albeit with a wistful smile across her face and announced to the world that, “The vicar just raped me, you all saw him attack me and throw me to the ground and forced me to sit astride him. You all saw him do it!” Whilst she was shouting out all the graphic details as she had seen them, and the ships security guard was frantically scribbling the detail down and dribbling form the corner of his mouth, Father Andrew was equally frantically signing the cross in the air in front of him.

A few hundred feet below, Cap’n Hand had ordered Carruthers and Juliana out of their cabin and onto the bridge suspecting that Carruthers may have been behind the whole series of incidents. But when Juliana rose from their bunk Carruthers was no-where to be seen and a further search of the torpedo room revealed Carruthers legs protruding from an air vent leading to the bilges of the sub. Behind the vent could be clearly seen Cap’n Hand’s old chair, safe, even if it did bear some evidence of its recent past floating around in the oily bilge water. It would seem that it was too large for Carruthers to drag it back through and put it into the torpedo tubes and fire it out the front of the craft as he had been doing with everything else that he had managed to pilfer throughout the ship. It seemed that he had discovered the torpedo tubes make a nice whooshing sound when he pulls the leaver with something inside it. Accordingly everything that wasn’t bolted down had been fired out of the ship and had been causing the extra sonar bleeps that had been causing so much confusion. With the apparent reluctance of Cap’n Hands chair to join all the other furniture in the torpedo tube, Carruthers had searched around for further ammunition and had found the torpedoes. Noticing that they were about the same size as the tubes he felt he ought to try and see if they fitted and ‘bingo!’ they were a perfect fit so he slid two into place and fired them at the same time to see if they made a better sound when done two at a time. The Cap’n couldn’t put a personal friend of the Kings in the brig, even if they had one, so all vents in Carruthers and Juliana’s cabin were welded down and two guards posted outside the door. Carruthers was warned that he must stay in his cabin and come out only for meals and bathroom breaks and even then only when escorted by two guards, although the Captain felt that Juliana was being a bit harsh there.

On the surface and aboard ship the purser had calmed the lady down with the liberal application of the Captains very own supply of rum. She had at first complained that it wasn’t her usual tipple but quickly accepted when the purser tried to take it back and rapidly passed an empty glass back for refilling and then suggested that he may as well leave her the bottle as there is only a little left. Apparently only a little could be construed as being just over half a bottle! Father Andrew was made to spend the rest of the journey in the purser’s cabin and had his head in his hands. No one was sure whether it was remorse for the shame now being heaped upon him over the alleged rape, or that he was now unable to bless the remainder of the crew and passengers with no freedom or holy water left or just that after pouring the contents of his barrel over himself his trousers may have been a little uncomfortable and had started to chafe a little on his legs. On arrival in France, the rest of the party of clerics left the ship whilst Father Andrew was told to remain on board, rejected by the French authorities as an ‘unwelcome alien’ and was being taken back to England! The Lady, by now incapable of standing unaided was wheeled down the gangplank by her butler as she wielded an empty bottle calling to anyone who would listen telling them, “I have been violated! Vive le difference! Whoopee!”

Father Andrew, when back in Dover, filled his holy water barrel from the sea at the docks and sat on the dock wall sipping at a cup of tea whilst he contemplated how he would deal with the shame of being rejected from France and not getting to see Lourdes. After a while he picked himself up and walked slowly and thoughtfully to the station. So deep in thought was he, that he failed to find the need to bless two prostitutes who approached him as he neared the station. By the following morning he was clearly feeling much better as he was found banging on the door to get in to Lords Cricket Club demanding to be allowed to bless the wicket ready for the England match that afternoon. After a quick conference the groundsmen decided that he couldn’t do much harm and if anything it may even help given the recent form of the England team. So Father Andrew dragged his drum of holy water out onto the wicket and flicked it liberally over the entire square and returned with that look of self satisfaction from a job well done and an empty barrel. That afternoon the cricket square turned a strange shade of brown as the groundsmen looked on in disbelief. The kind of brown grass tends to go when exposed to salt water. Everyone suspected that it had to have been something to do with the cleric who visited them that morning but nobody actually had any idea who he was and it was eventually written down in the history of Lords as a sabotage attempt either by the agents of the visiting team or perhaps the Russians trying to undermine English morale. Father Andrew returned to the army camp from whence he had come and endlessly regaled his flock with his stories of his time in Lords omitting to enlighten anyone as to how exactly he was spelling it whilst the remainder of his party that actually made it to Lourdes merrily drank his share of the wine at meal times.

The sub had to make an unscheduled stop in Chatham to restock with items such as chairs, kitchen equipment and various other items of a size that would fit into a torpedo tube and for Juliana to restock Carruthers medication, depleted after her efforts of trying to keep Carruthers under control and in their cabin.

Chapter 1 - The Leaving

Morning Corporal!

Regimental life showed signs of returning to as near normality as those involved could allow. Gideon, in the absence of the recently deceased Brigadier, who was tragically taken from us after an unfortunate incident with a tram, had taken to using a kind of lottery system to decide who he should endeavor to stand beside with most effect that day. The late Brigadier had been distracted whilst in search of a chemist to purchase a little relief from the itching raging around his genitals. Which you may recall was contracted after having spent the entire journey to London sat on a less than sanitized lavatory seat; all in an effort to get away from Gideon and his incessant tutting and posturing.

Carruthers and Nurse Juliana, now officially known as Agents Carruthers and Juliana have now left any former comforts they may have enjoyed far behind them. Well, actually only about a mile really, before Carruthers found something to play with. Heading for Waterloo they had to cross the Thames where a sail barge was moored against a pontoon hoisting a brand new sail with a few lipstick marks upon it that looked suspiciously like the colour worn by Juliana. One Ned Purbey was busy about his barge readying himself to cast off and test his brand new sails for the first time after the last set were shot through by Carruthers with a ceremonial cannon dragged behind one of the Kings horses. The morning had been peaceful to that point for Ned; he was not one for rushing life generally and this morning was not intended to have been any exception. He was down below, making himself a mug of tea and filling his brand new clay pipe that had been supplied by the King to replace the one he bit in half when he came under fire from Carruthers, when silently his mooring ropes went slack and dropped into the river. His sails filled a little as they caught a breeze as his vessel drifted into the middle of the river whilst Carruthers stood on the pontoon looking a little disappointed that his intended toy had escaped him. Juliana gathered her companion and escorted him back onto the river bank as she nervously watched events unfold with a certain predictability. Ned's barge was warming to its task as it headed towards the raised Tower Bridge with gathering speed whilst the bridge keeper having let through his scheduled craft was busy lowering the bridge again. As the barge passed through, the bridge caught the mast like a massive pair of tweezers and held it fast. Ned, who was down below and had just finished making his mug of tea in readiness for casting off was taking his first puff on his new pipe when the sound of ripping sails and the splintering of wood as the mast snapped was followed by the extreme discomfort of a mug of hot tea spilling in his lap and the now familiar crack as he bit yet another pipe in two! Carruthers was on the bank whooping with delight at the sight of the barge caught fast in the clutches of the big bridge. Juliana was trying to escort her companion away quietly but Ned had already recognised the demonic whooping from the earlier incident with the cannon and new just who he was going to contact!

Carruthers and Juliana had made their way to Waterloo station with a certain sense of urgency on Juliana’s part. Eager to get Carruthers to Portsmouth and on that sub before he found any further toys to play with and before any of the earlier ones managed to catch up with them. When they reached the platform at Waterloo it bought an air of foreboding as Carruthers spotted the engine at the far end of the platform and was paying far too much attention to it! Juliana shepherded her companion onto the first class carriages which were at the rear of the train and farthest from the latest object of Carruthers attentions.

Carruthers visit to the lavatories turned out to be a lengthy and protracted affair although Juliana had positioned herself nervously outside the lavatory door to avoid Carruthers getting too close to the hissing behemoth at the front of the train. After some time he emerged with a worrying grin on his face and not one brought on by wind! Eventually the guards whistle blew and Carruthers settled back in his seat with a satisfied smirk. The train lurched and shook and upset any coffee cups that people had on the table in front of them, but it resolutely refused to leave the security of the platform! Carruthers grin became broader and broader and turned into uncontrollable laughter as pompous looking officials started running around the platform blowing whistles. One couldn't help but wonder if his lengthy visit to the lavatory, the current mayhem on the platform and Carruthers mirthful demeanor were in some way connected. After the handbrake in the guard van, which had been wound up tighter than a drum, had been released the train puffed a great cloud of steam and smoke and chuffed energetically out of the station. Carruthers is now out in the wide world although one suspects that the world around Carruthers and Juliana is not going to be wide enough to give the rest of the world peace of mind.

On arrival in Portsmouth where our intrepid duo, or to be precise, the intrepid double agent Juliana and Carruthers, agent six and seven eights (cap size), were met by a detachment from the naval dock police, to escort them to the awaiting submarine which is to drop them on a beach off the Caspian Sea. As they entered the naval docks memories of a time when Carruthers struggled with a demon lurking deep within his soul started to surface. On the back of two tank transporters awaiting the ship to take them off to sunnier climes were a selection of tanks; all in working order and all with fuel and probably a certain amount of ammunition. Carruthers started to babble excitably at the sight as Juliana did her best to adjust his medication to keep his innate powers of confusion in check until they landed in her former motherland where his powers of destruction and apparent invisibility were really required. Carruthers, although seemingly firmly ensconced in the arms of his partner in their own bunk aboard the submarine may have been at work during the night. Great confusion went through the mind of seaman Splatter as he patrolled the dockyard that night. Where, on the previous wander round he had witnessed the submarine lying idly at the dockside was now just open water! Further confusion was felt by the crew of the apparently missing sub when they returned from their night ashore to find that the sub may have left without them. All of this confusion paled into insignificance compared to that felt by the captain of the vessel when he arose the next morning and made his morning mug of tea and tried to go on deck to enjoy the morning sunshine. His tea mug slopped most of the contents as he climbed the conning tower, but that was usual. As he tried to open the hatch it appeared unusually stiff and when he put his shoulder against it and gave it a good thump the reason became very apparent as his mug of tea was severely diluted with sea water. The hatch’s reluctance to open was caused by the pressure of about thirty feet of water which was above them as the submarine rested gently on the bottom at its original mooring. It would appear that Carruthers had taken a particular liking to the noises made when he opened some of the valves inside the sub which apparently reminded him of the noises he could make in the bath if the right kind of pressure could be applied. Amused by this particular kind of noise he opened all the other valves he could find that would repeat the experience and the sub slowly disappeared form normal view. When aroused from his bunk Carruthers had a strange smirk on his face as he declared his surprise at where they now found themselves.

I fear, Corporal that this could be a very long crossing to Russia for some if Carruthers has anything to do with it.

With the sub now returned to her original position at her mooring; that is to say on the surface, it showed great promise of being a pleasant day. The Captain was reluctant for him and his crew to put to sea until they had checked every valve on the vessel to be absolutely certain there would be no little surprises that Carruthers had left for them. Accordingly, it was decided that they would put to sea on the high tide the following morning. This allowed for a little more fresh sea air before the incarceration in the sub for the journey. Juliana had busied herself checking equipment and itineraries and going over their papers for one last time in case of any errors or oversight. Unfortunately that also meant that she had to take her eye off Carruthers for a short time. Father Andrew, having heard of the delay, took the opportunity to come and sprinkle holy water over the sub and her occupants and bless the voyage and our two agents for their mission. His arrival caused something of a stir as a portly priest tried valiantly to drag a five gallon drum up the gangplank and then up the conning tower, muttering some less than holy words as he skinned his knuckles trying to lower the barrel through the hatch watched by some very bemused seamen.

Whilst Father Andrew busied himself dowsing everything inside the sub with liberal quantities of holy water mumbling about the lack of room inside the infernal machine every time he hit his shins on a bulkhead door, outside was like any other post war day in a British naval dockyard; peaceful! In fact since hostilities had ceased not a shot had been fired nor a battle stations sounded. On a warm and sunny morning such as this the lookout was a prime job to be given and Seaman Splatter had fully intended to make the best of it. Armed only with a tin mug of tea, his paper and his baccie tin he shuffled off to relieve the early watch and do the crossword. At precisely ten o clock the clock began chiming out across the dockyard, the last chime took on an altogether more sinister sound as it appeared to be more like the ‘wump’ of a shell being fired. Seaman Splatter put down his crossword and nervously peered over the top of the lookout wall. He could not believe what he was seeing as the depressingly familiar sight of the fountain of foaming water from an exploding shell spewed forth from an otherwise calm flat sea. Screaming at the top of his voice, partly with excitement and terror at what was unfolding before his eyes and partly because he had just spilled the contents of his tin mug down his leg, "Incoming!" "Incoming!" The sirens screamed out battle stations across the tranquil sea. Seaman Splatter, in his panic to defend King and country, actually it was just blind panic really but it sounded better that way, jumped into the gun house and unleashed three rounds from the big fourteen inch guns on the battleship, aimed with pin point accuracy at nowhere in particular. Then another three, and another as he fought single handedly to defend his country against this foreign invasion, always at the front of his mind was whether this would bring about a commendation and promotion back to the ranks he once enjoyed and away from his much ridiculed name and rank. As others joined in, firing other guns on other ships at anything that dared to be on that stretch of water, it became a quite incredible sight as shells arced across the morning sky in a maritime volley of fire unparalleled in peace time. After the cease fire had been sounded whilst everyone searched the horizon for even the smallest inkling as to where the original shell had come from a stifled giggle was heard to come from what was felt to be one of the tanks on a trailer just inside the dock gate, and was that a little wisp of smoke that could be seen coming from the end of the barrel of the same tank?

A squad of guards arrived and surrounded the tank and a long stand off began with megaphone commands being barked from behind suitable shelter, "Give yourself up!" "Come out with your hands up!" "We have you surrounded!" They tried for half an hour, first in English, then in German and Russian and as a last result Venezuelan. There was no particular reason for that last choice other than the translator was trying to show off. But there was no sign of any mad gunner. After warnings of their imminent entry, in four languages, one hapless Seaman Splatter was sent forward to open the tank turret. His CO telling him it was in punishment for his firing all the big guns out to sea when the real problem was very obviously behind him; although he chose to ignore his own contribution to the affray from the shore battery. So Seaman Splatter was sent forward to open the hatch pointing his gun nervously into the blackness inside trying his best to sound aggressive when commanding the occupant or occupants to come out with their hands above their heads. The overall effect was a little diluted by the stream of urine running down his leg in fear. Still no one appeared, so Seaman Splatter climbed nervously inside only to emerge moments later to report that apart from a spent shell casing the interior was empty. Carruthers was watching the little drama at the tank from a deckchair on the deck of the sub and was applauding loudly when Seaman Splatter emerged from the tank.

Inside the sub, Father Andrew was busily flicking holy water over everything in sight. This was fine and quite harmless until he got to the radar room. With a loud bang and a sort of fizzing sound a small cloud of smoke puffed lazily from the open hatch on the deck and followed by a smoke blackened clergy man. Juliana appeared on deck to enquire as to why all the lights had gone out on board and when seeing the blackened clergyman gave Carruthers a withering stare of accusation although that was the one thing in the past twenty four hours that he genuinely wasn’t responsible for! By sundown the fuses had all been replaced and all valves checked and the King had arrived unannounced to wish his new friend well on his mission and so the decision was made to leave on the evening tide, more for the safety of Portsmouth than for any other reason I suspect. The sub slipped her moorings and left the safety of the harbour and had soon submerged and disappeared from view.