The Holiday

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The Holiday

Not even the weak winter sunshine could change the colour of this place. There were definitely patches of green and splashes of red brick but the predominant colour was grey. A dull, lifeless grey. The water in the harbour, the sky above the port city; both were a murky indistinguishable grey. The warships tied to the dockside mirrored the colour. The grey that Mike Kimberley would always associate with Portsmouth, wherever he may be.
He pulled his cap lower over his eyes, shielding them from the dancing glare from the choppy waves in the harbour, as HMS Danae edged her way in, her powerful gas turbines muted to a low hum. A modern Daring class destroyer she was just a year old and, as her captain, Mike Kimberley loved every inch of her. It was breaking his heart to leave her, but that was exactly what he was doing. He needed to be somewhere else. Over a year of relentless work had taken its toll on the ship’s Captain; the grey hairs were showing more prominently at his temples and ageing him beyond his forty five years. Mike Kimberley looked around him and he was proud of what he had achieved, but he was tired, exhausted, and needed respite.
The navigator who also happened to be Officer of the Watch conned the ship expertly to the side and Kimberley gave the order to ring off the engines. Quickly the vibrations and noises that embodied a living ship died away. A clattering noise signalled that the gangway had been lowered to the dockside, and a slight cough behind him told Kimberly that his first lieutenant had made his way from the foredeck to the bridge.
‘Number one?’ said Kimberley, keeping the formality expected of him.
‘Ship secured at berth sir,’ replied the first lieutenant, who then added with a grin, ‘good to be home.’ Kimberley merely nodded his agreement. Silently and some might say out of character for a normally ebullient man, he looked around him, before speaking.
‘I am going on leave Barry, so you’ll have the place to yourself.’ He smiled. An ambitious number one was always a good thing and Barry Swanley was nothing if not ambitious. Of course Kimberley knew that Danae was scheduled for maintenance work and would be crawling with dockyard ‘mateys’ rather than going anywhere. All Swanley could do was cope or make a mess of things. He would cope though, Kimberley knew that.
‘Any plans sir?’ enquired Swanley, the harshness of his Belfast accent making it sound like an inquisition rather than a friendly conversation.
‘Abroad number one, driving, and see where the wind takes me eh?’ Kimberley smiled, it took years off him. He looked around him and patted the chair that he frequently occupied when at sea. Not a bad career he reflected but this was as far as he would go. The three rings on his epaulettes denoted his rank as Commander. The chances of promotion were non-existent, his age and the clutter of senior captains above him would deny him flag rank, but, he reflected, that was something that he personally never aspired to. Others might, but not him.

Danae would be in port for at least six weeks as all the niggles and defects that only became apparent on an operational tour were fixed or ignored due to what were always called ‘budget constraints.’ Kimberley had sought and asked for four weeks leave. Four weeks during which he could disappear, leave the responsibilities behind and leave the worries to someone else.

Kimberley realised that Swanley was still there. ‘I’ll be going ashore in an hour Barry. Let the lads that are going get away before the old man.’ Already there was a stream of ratings leaving the ship, young men and women who never knew when and where they would be putting their lives on the line. And all of them happy to be getting some time ashore. Kimberley knew that after a while the more seasoned crew would be missing the life, some would be back on board early and some, a few of the younger ones, would try not to come back.

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