Disclaimer: I do not own Downton Abbey.
Summary: What if Doctor Clarkson had been forced to leave the garden party early, before Thomas had had a chance to speak to him? What if, following a suggestive comment by a colleague, the First Footman had decided against joining the British Army at all? What if, instead, he'd decided to join the Royal Navy? How different might things have been for him?
Warnings: Slash, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Violence, First World War.
A/N So the idea for this particular story has been rattling around in the back of my mind since I attended the 'Mountbatten Festival of Music' back in 2016 during which there was a memorial piece for the 100th commemoration of the 'Battle of Jutland.' I knew then that I wanted to do a story focusing on the naval aspects of the First World War which isn't as well known as the land based aspects, mostly due to the fact that the evidence of the battles are at the bottom of the ocean and can no longer be seen. Now, I don't claim to be a historian so please excuse me if I get anything wrong despite my research in this particular subject.
A/N 2 please be aware that whilst HMS Warrior was a real ship and I have managed to find a list of her crew I have opted to used entirely fictional characters for the use of this story so as not to dishonour any of their memories. In terms of the naval facts that I am including in this story I am from a naval family, my great-grandfather was killed during World War Two, my grandfather served during the final year of the war and my husband served back in the 1980's, and as such want to be as accurate as possible so have done as much research as possible (mostly using a fantastic book from the Jutland Museum at Portsmouth Historic Dockyards called '36 Hours. Jutland 1916. The Battle That Won The War.' Which I would highly recommend to anyone interested in the subject.) I am, however, not a historian and so there may be some factual errors so please forgive me and enjoy my work of fiction.
THE BOYS IN NAVY BLUE
CHAPTER THREE
HMS Warrior
May 1916
"Something's up."
Thomas, perched on one of the ships bollards with half a cigarette between his lips as he read the latest letter he'd received from Miss O'Brien, glanced up at Jenkins with a frown.
"What's up?"
"I don't know," Jenkins grumbled, nodding discretely to where a few of the ships younger officers were gathered further along the deck. "But whatever it is has got them all het up."
A quick glance along the deck confirmed that he was right; each one of the officers wore expressions of barely contained excitement. Greenaway, he noticed, was all but vibrating.
"Huh. You know what, I think you might be right," Thomas murmured, folding his letter back up and tucking it into his trouser pocket as he rose to his feet. "Something's definitely up."
It was then that they caught sight of the supply boat, a little tug which was also used to help the larger ships manoeuvre when needed, approaching the ship, heavily laden with crates.
Thomas paused, cigarette held an inch from his lips, smoke waiting to be exhaled.
They weren't due to be resolved for another week.
"That'll be the food and fresh water supply," Lieutenant Commander Rivers announced, his voice getting carried by the ever present wind so that both stewards could hear him. "Good. Get that lot unloaded and stowed away before the ammunition supply arrives in an hour."
Ammunition.
"Shit," Thomas cursed, exhaling heavily as the junior officers responded appropriately to the order. Food, water and ammunition meant only one thing. "We've been ordered to sea..."
"Not just us," Jenkins pointed out. "Look."
He was right; several other supply ships were making their way out to the rest of the fleet.
"Shit," Thomas cursed for a second time as realisation dawned, his cigarette dropping from his fingers and falling into the sea. They had all been hearing rumours for the last week or so that the Admiralty were planning something, the Naval equivalent of a 'Big Push', in order to stop the German High Seas Fleet breaking free of the blockade and making it out to the North Sea. Such an engagement would require not only the ships of the British Grand Fleet, HMS Warrior included amongst them, but also the ships of the Battle Cruiser Fleet which were moored at Rosyth. His stomach clenched. "It's happening. Fuck. It's really happening."
"About time too," Jenkins crowed loudly, his face split by an enormous grin as he turned away from the sight and headed towards the nearest hatch. "I'm going to tell the others."
Thomas was in a minority for the next couple of days, wary of the oncoming engagement rather than excited to "finally getting to have a go at the stinking Huns" and his years of keeping his thoughts to himself as a servant came in handy once more; should the rest of the ships company learn of his reservations he would be labelled as "yellow" and Thomas Barrow was many things but one thing that he refused to be seen as was a damned coward.
In the days following the arrival of the supplies letter writing became the most popular past time with every man on the ship sending letters to their loved ones. Some were happy to read them aloud to their friends before sending them, particularly those who were writing to their sweethearts, whilst others like Thomas chose to keep their correspondence private.
His letter to his family was brief, almost a formality as they hadn't spoken in years,
I hope this letter finds you all as well as can be in these difficult times. I am currently serving aboard HMS Warrior within the British Grand Fleet as an Officers Steward. We expect to put to sea soon to face our enemy in glorious battle. I hope that if I should die in the oncoming engagement that you will finally be able to think well of me. Your son, Thomas Barrow.
He knew that the censors would probably take exception to him revealing his ship but if they wanted to remove it then they could do so; he was going to write what could possibly be his last correspondence precisely how he wanted to. His next letter was for Miss O'Brien,
Dear Miss O'Brien,
This may very well be my last letter to you for quite some time.
Due to some recent supply deliveries, specifically a lot of ammunition, and some overheard conversations amongst the ships officers we believe that the fleet shall soon be putting to sea to finally face off against our enemy. There is no telling when we shall actually set sail, it could be in a few hours or a couple of days, but I feel that it shall be sooner rather than later.
I have never seen battle, therefore I only have what some of the others have told me to go on, and if what they say is even half true I wanted you to know that I always valued your friendship even though sometimes we ended up at odds. Whilst I hope for the best possible outcome of the oncoming battle I am not naïve enough to believe that if my time is up I shall be spared. I am not afraid of dying, rather of being forgotten, and so I have enclosed my best cap tally for you to keep as a memento of me and of our time together at Downton Abbey.
Have a cigarette for me, if I don't come back, and look after the clocks.
Look after yourself, too; no scheming and making trouble just for the fun of it, you hear?
Your Friend,
Thomas Barrow
HMS Warrior
His letters finished he folded the thin sheets of paper carefully in half, slipped them into two identical envelopes, carefully addressed them, sealed them and then made his way through the ship to the small post box located at the quartermasters store. There he joined the short queue of other sailors and was eventually able to purchase two stamps and post his letters.
That done he turned to return to his duties only to halt at the sound of his name,
"Barrow!"
Turning he found himself facing Lieutenant Crawley, carrying half-a-dozen crisp envelopes, approaching from the opposite direction and obediently waited for the officer to reach him.
"Sir," Thomas greeted him politely. "Was there something you needed?"
"I just wanted make sure that you and the other stewards are aware that today's post shall be leaving the ship at 1500 instead of 1800," the handsome young officer murmured softly. "It's not supposed to be common knowledge yet but the fleet will be leaving port tonight."
"Thank you for the forewarning, sir," Thomas responded sincerely. "I've just posted my own letters home but shall endeavour to make sure the others get theirs in before the post goes."
"Good. That's good."
He looked concerned, possibly even a little frightened, and Thomas couldn't blame him.
"And you, sir?" he enquired, nodding down to the letters. "Do you need any stamps?"
"No, thank you, I have some," Matthew responded softly, tapping his letters against the knuckles of his left hand. A quick glance confirmed that, yes, they already bore the required postage stamps. "I've included a Will, or what will serve as a Will, in my letter to Cousin Robert just in case. And I've sent a snapshot of myself and the other officers to my mother and one of just myself to Lavinia. She's a…friend. We, um, we met before the war, before I moved to Downton, and I bumped into her a few months ago when I had a weeks leave."
It was amusing to see the future Earl of Grantham getting so flustered about a girl.
"I sent my best cap tally to Miss O'Brien," Thomas admitted so as to spare the young officer any further embarrassment should he worry about revealing too much. "I don't have any photographs of me so that was the next best thing. She was my only friend at Downton."
"Surely not. You seem like a pleasant enough chap. Why only the one friend?"
"His Majesties Royal Navy is responsible for a great many changes in my behaviour and attitude, although some things are altogether incurable," Thomas chuckled, puzzled by how natural the conversation was flowing between the two of them; and officer and a rating, a member of the family and a servant. "I'm afraid I was an altogether unpleasant fellow bellow stairs, jealous and scheming. I wanted what I believed I was owed or deserved and took it rather poorly when others were elevated above me for no reason that I could see…"
"You mean Mr Bates," Matthew concluded correctly. "You wanted to be Roberts valet."
"I did. And at the time I hated the fact that I'd been passed over for an outsider," Thomas admitted, rubbing the back of his neck as his cheeks burned with shame. "Having been away long enough to be blessed with hindsight I can see now that I wasn't anywhere near ready."
"Ah. I see," Lieutenant Crawley hummed. "Hindsight. It's a cruel thing, isn't it?"
"It can be," Thomas agreed. "But it can lead to some important lessons being learnt."
"Indeed."
After a long moment Matthew turned, posting his letters into the grey metal box mounted to the wall with a rectangular slit near the top, the word 'POST' stamped below the hole.
Thomas assumed that was his cue to leave but had only gotten a few paces away before the officer caught up with him, following him through the maze of corridors that made up their ship, down a couple of decks via the vertical ladders upon which the black paint had been worn away by the men's boots before finally speaking as they approached the wardroom.
"Do you know what I fear the most about the oncoming days?" he enquired softly, slowing to a halt, his words forcing Thomas to slow down with him. He couldn't ignore a superior officer, could he? "Submarines. How can we be expected to fight what we cannot see?"
Submarines, like that which had sunk the RMS Lusitania back in 1915, terrified most sailors.
It was said that at the outbreak of war Germany had only had twenty submarines available for combat whilst the Royal Navy had possessed seventy four. The difference, sadly, was that whilst the German U-Boats, as they were called, possessed the range and speed needed to operate effectively around the entire British coast the Royal Navy's ships possessed what could only be described as 'mixed effectiveness' in terms of range, speed and effectiveness.
"They're visible when they're on the surface," Thomas pointed out, rather unnecessarily. "We shall just hope that when we come across one they aren't below the waves, that's all."
He hoped he sounded more confident than he felt.
Submarines, with their open, underhanded warfare, scared him just as much as anyone else.
They had appeared in the Atlantic first, attacking HMS Monarch only four days after the declaration of war whilst she had been on manoeuvres with HMS Ajax and HMS Orion. It hadn't been an overly successful first attack, or so the stories told, with the U-Boats torpedo failing to hit the battleship and had succeeded only in putting the three ships on their guard.
At dawn the next morning, or so a rather drunken sailor had once told Thomas whilst on shore leave, HMS Birmingham of the 1st Light Cruiser Squadron had sighted a U-Boat sitting idle and unprotected on the surface. According to the sailor the U-Boat hadn't even had any lookouts posted, allowing them to approach unchallenged, and then they'd been able to hear the sounds of hammering leading them to believe that the crew were making repairs.
HMS Birmingham had rammed the U-Boat, cutting it in half, and had sunk it with all hands.
The, albeit unsuccessful, attack had caused the Royal Navy an understandable amount of uneasiness as it disproved all of the earlier estimates as to U-boats' radius of action and left the security of the Grand Fleet's unprotected anchorage at Scapa Flow open to question.
HMS Pathfinder had eventually been the first ship to be sunk by a U-Boat on 5th September 1914, her magazine apparently exploding after being struck by a torpedo. She sank in only four minutes, a terrifyingly quick time, and of the crew 259 souls went down with her. Less than a month later three of the oldest armoured cruisers in the fleet, HMS Aboukir, HMS Cressy, and HMS Hogue, had been sunk by a single submarine with a loss of 1,460 sailors.
HMS Hawke, an old cruiser, had been sunk three weeks later.
Thomas could recall the wave of alarm that had swept over everyone as he worked to complete the basic training required of him before he could take up his first posting.
The sinking's had caused alarm within the Admiralty, which had been becoming increasingly nervous about the security of the Scapa Flow anchorage according to the ever present rumour mill, and the fleet was sent to ports in Ireland and the west coast of Scotland until adequate defences were installed at Scapa Flow. Their concerns had, almost inevitably, been proven well founded when, on 23rd November 1914, a U-Boat had penetrated Scapa Flow via Hoxa Sound, following a steamer through the boom and entering the anchorage with little difficulty. Thomas and his fellow recruits had spoken at length about how the Germans must have reacted when they found the fleet to be absent. The U-Boat was spotted whilst it was attempting to make it back out to open sea, or rather their periscope was spotted by a guard boat, the Dorothy Gray, who proceeded to ram it, rendering the periscope unserviceable. The U-Boat then suffered some mechanical issues, or so it was assumed, and the ships captain had been forced to surface and scuttle his command.
There had been much celebrating after that.
Of course the celebrating had ended when HMS Formidable was sunk on 31st December.
"I can only hope that, if we do get targeted by a submarine, they manage a clean hit and were killed before we can realise what's happened," Matthew uttered, his voice sincere as his gaze became distant. "At least we can fight back against other ships if we're attacked."
Thomas could only grunt in agreement.
"Would you mind making me a strong cup of tea, Barrow?"
"Of course not, sir," Thomas agreed. "I'll bring it through to you."
"Thank you, Barrow."
The U-Boats didn't just attack ships of the Royal Navy of course.
As an island they relied on imports and exports to survive and so, in retaliation to the Royal Navy's blockade of German held ports, they had begun to attack unarmed merchant ships.
And it wasn't just merchant ships, Thomas thought to himself as he stepped into the galley to prepare Lieutenant Crawley, thinking back to the day he'd heard that a hospital ship, the Asturias, had been torpedoed despite being clearly marked. Thankfully the torpedo missed.
And, of course, the RMS Lusitania.
The Germans had had the audacity to publish a written warning to the passengers of the ocean liner, a ship which should never have been considered a target in the first place, in fifty American newspapers. A copy of the warning had been published in English papers too.
NOTICE!
TRAVELLERS intending to embark on the Atlantic voyage are reminded that a state of war exists between Germany and her allies and Great Britain and her allies; that the zone of war includes the waters adjacent to the British Isles; that, in accordance with formal notice given by the Imperial German Government, vessels flying the flag of Great Britain, or any of her allies, are liable to destruction in those waters and that travellers sailing in the war zone on the ships of Great Britain or her allies do so at their own risk.
IMPERIAL GERMAN EMBASSY
Washington, D.C., 22 April 1915.
No one, not even Thomas, had believed they would actually go through with their threat.
But they had and 1,198 innocent people had lost their lives.
"Is that tea your making, Thomas?"
"Yes, for Lieutenant Crawley."
"Any chance you could make two more?" Hudson, one of the youngest officers stewards who tended to get flustered about the simplest thing. "Greenaway and Barrett asked for some but I'm absolutely desperate for the toilet. Not too strong and one sugar for Barrett?"
Thomas huffed as the boy as he bounced on the spot like a child who needed the loo.
"Go on," he muttered. "But make sure you hurry back. And tell the others that the post is going at 1500 today as there's a good chance we'll be putting out to sea sometime tonight."
"Tonight?"
"Tonight."
"Oh. I'd better write a letter to my mum…"
"I thought you needed to use the head*…" Thomas pointed out whilst reaching into the cupboard to retrieve three cups and saucers instead of just the one he had been intending to grab, frowning across at the silent young steward. "Otherwise you can do this yourself."
"No, no, I do…" Hudson mumbled, flustered. "I just…I'll…"
Trailing off he turned and hurried out of the busy galley, causing the cooks who were busy preparing the officers lunch on the other side of the room to snort loudly to each other.
Thomas couldn't help but wonder, not for the first time, how the other man had become an officers steward when he couldn't even act his own age half the time, always needing help.
Going through the motions of making the three requested cups of tea Thomas' mind strayed back to the subject of submarines, or more specifically the German U-Boats. As far as he was aware there wasn't currently any way of detecting the ships once they'd dived and surface detection was the same as with all other ships; it was up to the ships lookouts to spot them.
And in terms of countermeasures should they be attacked by a submarine, well, if it was on the surface they could shoot at it. That was fine. If it was underwater but they could see its parachute then they could either use the periscope to target their guns or ram the ship. If it was completely submerged, however, their best countermeasure was to plot a sharp, erratic course so that they couldn't target them with their torpedoes and attempt to outrun them.
Unarmed merchant ships, of course, only had two options; ram or run.
Placing the three steaming cups of tea on one of the circular trays with a prominent edge he made his way into the wardroom, moving carefully around the room to deliver each tea to the correct individual as the three teas were rather different from one another. He had just placed the last cup and saucer down on the table in front of Greenaway when the Captain stepped into the wardroom and everyone sprang to attention, either standing or sitting.
"At ease, gentlemen," he murmured, glancing around the room. "Barrow. A coffee, please."
"Aye, aye, sir."
As he was stepping out of the wardroom, carrying the empty tray at his side he heard the beginnings of what evidently a rehearsed speech from his Captain to the ships officers,
"Gentlemen, I have just received confirmation that the rumours were true. It is time for us to go hunting. We shall be catching the late tide and leaving Scapa Flow along with the rest of the Grand Fleet under the command of Admiral Jellicoe and heading for the North Sea."
He later learned that it wasn't just the British Grant Fleet that set sail that evening, HMS Warrior hauling up her anchor and starting up her engines at the designated time so that they could take their place in the formation of the 1st Cruiser Squadron and leave the safety of Scapa Flow. The Battle Cruiser Fleet, under Admiral Beatty, left Rosyth at the same time.
Would they ever return?
He honestly didn't know.
And as he stood watching the familiar landscape disappear behind them as the powered on towards the open waters of the North Sea he couldn't help but feel a sense of unease as darkness descended, the ships lights having been doused so that they wouldn't be spotted by the enemy leaving only the moonlight to guide them. He could hear the other ships, the sound of their engines filtering over the sound of their own to create and constant rumble.
Thomas had no way of knowing as he stood smoking his cigarette that life as he had known it would be irrevocably changed by the events which would take place the following day. He had no idea of knowing that the 31st May 1916 would change the course of the entire war.
A/N I apologise that this was pretty much a filler chapter with a tiny bit of interaction between Thomas and Matthew and an essay on early submarine warfare slipped in. It was necessary to bridge from the last chapter to the beginning of the battle which takes place in the next chapter. I would like to thank everyone who responded to my last chapter with their pairing requests; thanks to you I now know where to take this story. So, with the most amount of requests, Matthew/Thomas is the endgame but we're going to have some fun before we get there. I am also planning to include Matthew/Lavinia as I liked her way more than Mary. Don't worry, it will all make sense when I reach that particular point. Comments and suggests are more than welcome. Until next time my lovely readers. Marblez. X
* head/heads = toilets/lavatories in the Royal Navy