What was the outlook for ' Operation Loyalty,' as the
Navy described its arrangements for meeting, greeting and escorting the Queen returned from foreign parts ? To begin with, the MFV scraped a deal of new paint off the side of a destroyer, lost a line, and snapped a boathook. These were bad omens. When at last I found myself on board a frigate and informed by a cheerful First Lieutenant that the manoeuvres I should see on the morrow were among the most dangerous in the book, a certain queasiness stole over me. For there was a reporter, livelier than I, on board who was already working out the introduction to the story he would send (by sema- phore ..)) as our frigate and Britannia sank in deathly embrace into the grey waters of the Channel. The weather report spoke first of fog and then of wind. It is only when I am at sea that fog and wind can live in harmony. It looked bad, distance, I stood on the bridge and fidgeted inconspicuously. "Two cables opening," said the officer responsible for correct station-keeping. " Two fathoms closing," said I resentfully to myself, convinced that I could see the whites of the eyes of sailors at the stern of the ship ahead. " What a game," thought 1, " to treat the sea like a parade-ground I " But the drill-was certainly a trick worth seeing, even by a Jonah—two lines of whippy ships moving in counter-arcs of 180 degrees around the -Lord High Admiral of England, while that lady's battleship Vanguard slammed out its welcome home and a clutter of aircraft, civil and military, dodged one another overhead in undisciplined but effective fashion. However, this is what we have all already read in the newspapers, so no more.
For a long time it was plain sailing and simple station- keeping (and if the Lord High Admiral failed to see for her- self how one of her ships unaccountably reduced speed by three knots and very nearly got it in the stern, who am I to tell her ?). Now and then a headland made itself smudgily visible, a mere adumbration of terra firma.• An occasional yawl or ketch stood off admiringly. We were certainly some- thing to look at, although we were not ourselves looking by this stage, On each of Her Majesty's ships the sweet sound of typewriters was heard as reporters dredged up metaphor and simile from the depths of the soul and composed them into cablese for wireless transmission. Some senior officers, properly fearful of the lubberish bloomers which landsmen are prone to make (what with " casting the anchor,"." turn- ing to the right," going ' upstairs," " that huge grey boat the Vanguard " and the like—see this article for others) enquired civilly if they might con the copy. Now this is a request which reporters, a prickly breed, being guardians of liberty, do not care for overmuch. A' wise friend of mine, as I learned on landing, told a commander in front of the wardroom that he would let him see his description if he (the commander) would let him see his 'poetry. But I don't write poetry," said the commander. " Well then." said the reporter, stowing his copy in his pocket, to the delight of certain junior officers.
But soon it was time to watch the Home Fleet training squadron, two carriers, and eight submarines steam past to windward of Britannia (the first royal yacht in history to look like a superior steam packet). And shortly after this my anxiety began to sit up and take notice again. For many yachtsmen (and others not altogether deserving of the title) were positioning their craft as thick as confetti over the ocean, and right in the track of the oncoming fleet.
" What about this ? " I asked the First Lieutenant.
" The Fleet," said he, " will press on regardless."
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