“Disobeying orders,” was Master Jack’s reply. “And I say, policeman, what ripping buttons you’ve got on your uniform!”
Jellicoe never knew fear or favour. But evidently as a youngster he realized the meaning of discipline and order.
In telling this little incident the nurse is reported to have said that Master Jacky was extremely disgusted when the policeman refused to take him away and lock him up.
Maybe he thought that the policeman ought to have been reported for not doing his duty.
At twelve years of age young Jellicoe left the Rottingdean school, and it was then that Captain Jellicoe decided his boy should have his chance in the Royal Navy, instead of following in his footsteps and entering the Mercantile Marine.
So he went up for his preliminary examination and passed into the old Training Ship Britannia with flying colours. From this moment there was no stopping young Jellicoe. As an Instructor tersely remarked, “He was a holy terror”—but not in the sense which that expression is generally meant to convey.
He was just as quiet and well-disciplined a boy as he has been since he grew to manhood’s estate. But he was “a holy terror” for work.
Any sort of work.
To whatever he put his hand—or his mind—he accomplished. At this period he is described by one who knew him as being short, thin but wiry, rather pale, with large determined mouth and nose, and a pair of extraordinarily bright eyes.
In spite of his aptitude for mental work (the first year or two on the Britannia is taken up with as much “book learning” as “boat learning”), there was nothing of the bookworm about young Jellicoe, and the most fierce youthful opponent of “swotting” could never have accused him of priggishness.