Upon the rivers of Babylon, there we sat and wept
when we remembered Zion:
…
If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, let my right hand be forgotten.
Let my tongue cleave to my jaws, if I do not remember thee;
If I make not Jerusalem the beginning of my joy.
It was the last days of the year 1925, and to be specific, it was the 25th day of the last month. It was Christmas, they were in Canada, and they were drinking.
They were really drinking, actually. Canadian whiskey and West Indies rum raced down their throats, not burning nearly as much as a holiday spent far from home. There had been prattle about how Canada was their home in the sense that all of the empire was their home, but that felt like more of a cruel joke than anything else.
Warspite remained a teetotaller, but this particular moment… it was really, really tempting her. Today was supposed to be a happy occasion, but it seemed like everyone was trying their best to blot the entire day out with booze. A few girls had taken a bit more than a sip during the morning service, and things only got crazier from there.
Well, she wasn't the only person trying for sobriety. Several of their handlers and officers stayed dry, to keep an eye on them, and Hood's condition meant she usually didn't drink… Warspite worked her way over to Hood, weaving past Curacoa and Curlew, who were hopefully doing something to moderate alcohol intake.
(Well, Curlew was a definite stickler about that thing, while her sister's method was a bit more roundabout. Curacoa was a bit more easygoing, although that was thankfully checked by a sort of motherly, teacherly attitude. Christmas was the perfect excuse to dump sweets in front of someone, spoiling someone without getting them drunk.)
She took a seat next to Lizzie, who was chatting away with one of her officers. Her sister had been slowly working her way through some mulled wine, at a blessedly reasonable pace.
"Merry Christmas, Warspite!" She smiled.
"Merry Christmas, Liz," she looked up at the officer and thought for a moment or two. "And… Wilson?" She asked, feeling a bit rude.
"Yes." He smiled. "Has Lizzie said anything about me?"
"Oh, she loves to talk about her officers."
"Warspite!" Lizzie hissed, "It's just that a superior isn't much good without able subordinates…" She had some trouble putting her feelings into words. It was sweet, like a reversal of the perpetually chatty and overexcited Malaya–
Warspite scanned the room, looking for gray-white hair and a heavy red cloak lined with ermine. For a moment, she thought she saw her, but that head of hair was too short: Hermes, playing some sort of card game with a few other girls. Scanning the room again, Warspite couldn't spot hide nor hair of Valiant.
Where was she? She would never miss a party like this, despite the generally sour mood on the base. Warspite stood up, moving back and forth to try to catch glimpses of people who might be hidden from her eyes.
"Warspite!" Elizabeth hissed.
"What? I think we've lost Valiant."
Elizabeth sighed. "Valiant went to grab her crew for some sort of performance."
"Oh." Warspite lowered back into her seat, and Elizabeth laid a hand on her shoulder.
"Thank you, Lizzie. Love you."
"Love you too, Warspite."
Wilson cleared his throat. "Should I excuse myself?"
They both flushed a bit, but Warspite stood up before he could get away. "Don't let me interrupt you. Enjoy yourself, Lizzie."
She smiled at her sister and walked around the periphery of the party, looking for someone else to talk to. Prince of Wales was over there, but she was quite busy talking to a charming young gentleman, and Warspite figured she probably shouldn't interfere.
King George (the ship) was ruminating over the cheese platter, discussing something or other with Edinburgh. She had done no small amount of work to guarantee everything panned out well…
"Thank you George, Edinburgh."
"My pleasure, Warspite."
"My pleasure, ma'am."
She tried to savor the food. This was an unusually extravagant celebration, and the government was desperately struggling to give the Exiles a decent standard of living while not upsetting the Canadians. Rumors of rationing for an England expedition…
Perhaps Christmas was the time to get their hopes up about that sort of thing, but she didn't feel too confident. They had struggled to execute the Christmas party well. A full-fledged invasion of Britain, across the Atlantic? You didn't have to be a cynic to doubt that one.
That was the real cause of the party's sour undertone. It was a bit like the beginning of the Weltkrieg, and what they said then: home by Christmas. They weren't home by Christmas, and promises of a swift return to life in Merrie England seemed likely to fall through.
She wondered if Enterprise and Danae and all the National French were having a Christmas party. Catholics celebrated on the same day, as far as she knew. She wondered if it would be worse, being so close and so far at the same time.
Well, she could say one thing about Algeria: they probably weren't having a white Christmas right now. The snow drifted down outside, almost leisurely, as if the clouds had burnt themselves out earlier in the day, laying down a thick layer of snow that seriously complicated the party.
It seemed like it would be a lovely night…
The door swung open, and Valiant marched in, followed by a group of her crew, dressed to the nines. (Well, as dressed to the nines as you could be when your pant cuffs were all wet.) Warspite let out a little sigh of relief and approached her sister.
As Valiant's boys shuffled into place, Warspite's sister gave her a hug, and Warspite responded with a quick kiss on the cheek. Valiant frowned. "Are you leaving the party? They haven't even sung yet!"
"I think I just need some fresh air," Warspite said. "This outfit's a little warm…"
"Everything's a little warm for you, Warspite." The two chuckled. "Just, ah, try to catch the first song, at least?" Warspite couldn't refuse that, at least, so she grabbed a glass of water and watched as Valiant stood like a little conductor…
We three kings of Orient are,
Bearing gifts we traverse afar,
Field and fountain,
Moor and mountain,
Following yonder star…
Warspite couldn't say if Valiant's conducting was doing much of anything, but it was clear that she had gotten her boys to practice. On a warship that big, in a fleet this big, she could have probably found a musician, but there was a certain gravity to the way they sang acapella. The chatter of the party died down.
Valiant occasionally snuck a glance behind her, grinning like a fool when she saw the whole room was focusing on the performance. (Warspite could imagine what Malaya would say perfectly: "Did you know that We Three Kings was actually an American hymn? One of the first truly American carols?" Did Valiant know that when she picked the song? There was a certain symbolism there…)
She had soloists who sang the parts of Caspar, Melchior, and Balthazar and a few boys who provided a sort of wordless backup music… it seemed like Valiant had really spent some time figuring this out. She had a good ear.
The song ended, there was applause, and as Valiant took requests for the next song, Warspite slipped outside and took a bracing breath of cold winter air. It was a beautiful night, the waxing moon giving her a bit of light to see by, on top of the golden glow that seeped out of the windows.
It was really a nice house, perhaps for officers or something? It, like so many facilities devoted to officers, had become a haunt for shipgirls. Warspite remembered carrying an unfortunately light bag through that little gate, setting her things down in the house, and crying.
Maybe that was part of the reason she didn't drink. Well, she abstained long before reaching Canada, but when Britain fell, many a good officer looked for some sort of answer at the bottom of their glass. It was absolutely a problem that could hit ships, as they would soon learn…
Well, that was a grim sort of thought for Christmas, wasn't it? This Christmas had been a lot of grim thoughts, one after the other, despite the intended meaning of the holiday. All things were supposed to be made new, and yet they were stuck in the old.
Maybe the real lesson they should draw from Christmas this year was contentment in dire circumstances. Glory in poverty… well, that sounded a bit mean. The Canadians weren't poor, but they certainly weren't England. Would the proper thing to do be… giving it up? Trying to find some new identity in Canada, an identity that didn't hinge on violent homecoming?
The door creaked open, and a stanza slipped out, interrupting her train of thought:
Veiled in flesh the Godhead see,
Hail the incarnate Deity,
Pleased as man with man to dwell,
Jesus our Emmanuel!
Warspite realized that was quite some time for the door to be open… she turned to see Hood, slowly stepping over the threshold, leaning on her cane. She had probably strained to open the door.
"Sorry!" Warspite said, shooting up and holding the door as Hood limped through. "Will you be alright in this cold?"
Hood coughed. "I'll manage. My officers got me a new coat." It was a heavy thing of dark leather, closed up tight so you could only see the barest hints of the long red dress Hood wore underneath. There were equally nice gloves on her hands, the dark leather nearly matching the polished wood of the cane.
(The cane was fancy, but not the sort of fancy thing bought in Canada or even over the border in America. It was good old English blackthorn, processed almost like an Irish shillelagh. A rough approximation of Hood's badge was carved into the top… it was the work of someone who cared very much. All of Hood's officers did. Given the Admiralty's expansion plans… that stick would know more of England than some of their future comrades.)
"I had thought to bring some tea…" Hood smiled, regretfully.
"I'm not thirsty. Thank you, though."
Hood lowered herself into a chair and gazed out on the reflective snow. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"
"Magnificent," Warspite affirmed.
"I'm glad to see this with you," she said, before quickly pulling out a handkerchief to control a series of coughs.
"Hood!"
"I'm fine, dear. Just…" she sighed, "I had always dreamt of touring the Empire."
"You did?"
"Yes. A lovely Canadian night like this… it would go well with a visit to India, to Australia, to Africa…"
It was a nice thought, but it was a thought. Of course, there was the fact that any Empire tour would be incomplete without England herself, but everyone knew how the hop across the Atlantic had affected her. She was exhausted, bedridden for a couple of days…
No one in a state like that could manage a grand Imperial circumnavigation.
"Did you receive any gifts, Warspite?"
"Yes. My crew made a version of my badge to hang in my room…" Warspite snorted. "Oh, Jellicoe bought me a dress."
"He did?"
"He's been buying me clothes for nine Christmases, now. I don't think he's forgiven me for my initial outfit."
Hood laughed. "It seems I dodged a bullet there, didn't I?"
"Yes. You came out the perfect lady."
"Well, I wouldn't say perfect," Hood sighed. "Ah, that reminds me. I was wondering if you had taken up any hobbies, Warspite."
"I haven't," Warspite responded, not quite sure what she was getting at.
"I know Valiant's choir has helped her. Gives her something to do. Elizabeth is learning ballroom dances."
"Nothing like that."
"I thought you might make a good marksman."
"With small arms?" Warspite asked.
"Yes. My crew had considered buying me a carbine, but…" she smiled wanly. "I think it might interest you. Perhaps our friends in Delhi can acquire a jezail."
"It would be taller than me!"
"And a warship's cannons aren't?"
Warspite chuckled. "Fair enough. Although I suppose it isn't exactly a ladylike pursuit…" Warspite didn't mind that thought too terribly, but she had thought Hood would suggest something a little less martial.
"If I had the constitution for it, I would train with something. Ladies we may be, but that's no license to be defenseless. Plus… I think you're most charming when you don't hold yourself to those high standards."
"Thank you, Hood."
For a moment, they sat in silence, until Warspite's curiosity overwhelmed her and she stepped down to feel the snow. It was cold, of course, and she had certainly seen the stuff before… but it was interesting to play with. To compress into a little ball
"Do you think your aim translates to snowballs?" Hood mused.
Warspite snorted. "What?"
"Your remarkable aim with your guns… would it translate well to throwing snowballs?
"I'm unsure."
Hood smiled. "A lady should always know what she is capable of."
"Alright," Warspite giggled, "Who are we targeting today, fire control?"
Hood squinted for a second, before pointing with a gloved hand. "That fencepost right there."
Warspite pulled back and threw. Sure enough, the snowball hit home, exploding into a spray of flakes when it hit.
Hood squinted some more. "Did you hit?"
"Dead on." A few more shots proved that she really was a natural at this sort of thing. Food would occasionally applaud when Warspite managed some remarkable shot, never once doubting that Warspite did the things she said she did.
Still, there were only so many things she could throw snowballs at. It seemed she was out of challenges for the night, until… "One of my crew shoots skeet..." Hood said.
What followed was a thoroughly absurd exercise where Warspite tried to knock thrown snowballs out of the air. Hood managed to throw a few, despite Warspite fretting over her getting too chilly. Unfortunately, it seemed snowballs were pretty hard, as moving targets went, so all they really managed to do was dig out a little trench in the snow in front of the house.
They almost forgot the party was there until the door creaked open again, letting a slow, yearnful song distract them from their laughter and their vain attempts at warming their hands. Warspite hoped Valiant didn't have her boys singing the whole time…
Draw nigh, draw nigh, Emmanuel,
And ransom captive Israel,
That mourns in lonely exile here,
Until the Son of God appear;
Rejoice, rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall be born for thee, O Israel…
Omake:
"I bought a book on Canadian history," Warspite said.
"For who?"
Warspite sighed. "It's going to sound a little silly… but I bought it for Malaya."
Happy holy week here's a Christmas fic lol