Under the periscope

by Mark Herbert Joseph Bennett

It has already been pointed out that breakfast in the Parentis was a meal of Spartan severity. Moreover, the breakfasters were divided into three distinct classes. During the remainder of the day the members of these different orders descended to the level of the common herd and were as other men. But when the fateful hour of eight a.m. came round again, they picked up the broken threads of their lives, and for one brief hour held chillily aloof from those of other and (according to the point of view) less distinguished bodies.

The most elevated of these orders consisted of those few habitually early risers, who, having shaved and bathed at the grisly hour of 7.15, loomed heavily into the ward room with severe countenances and majestic mien, each a procession in himself. In sepulchral tones they ordered eggs, and taking up a strategic position with their backs to the fire, produced books from their pockets and read in heavy silence, with one eye cocked doorwards whence breakfast would appear.

On the arrival of food they took their seats in awful majesty, nodded to one another across the table, and attacked their eggs without further preamble. The actions of the noble-minded of this earth are often mysteries to its more humble inhabitants. But Conscia mens recti may do these things and prosper.

To arrest public attention, man must be eccentric, but even greatness has its penalties, and of these the discomfort attendant on eccentricity is by no means one of the least.

Consequently the second, and by far the most numerous, school of breakfasters, comprised the ‘plebs’ or rabble, who drifted in at any time between eight-twenty and a quarter to nine, having risen and dressed with decorum, and at the hour when a normal Christian should.

Its adherents held a brighter view of life; occasionally they spoke, and rumour whispered that once in the dim ages, far back in the twilight of history, a member of this low caste has even been known to laugh!

The third and last clan, which was very popular with certain members of the mess, rivalled in fame its more ascetic brethren who aspired to be ‘healthy, wealthy, and wise.’ Its devotees, having remained in bed until the last minute, fled in terror to the bathroom, visions of pyjamas and flying towels, and presently burst wild-eyed into the mess, still buttoning their monkey jackets about them. In panic-stricken tones they ordered food and (if the table had not already been cleared) fell upon the viands in the manner of drowning men to whom help had come when hope had been foregone.

For the remainder of the forenoon the ward room would be filled with the bitter complaints of the less fortunate of these late-comers. Complaints to the effect that ‘they never could get any breakfast in this wretched ship,’ and of the futility and feebleness of the calls given them by their respective Marine servants.

A new member coming to the mess grasped the situation at his first meal, and felt it a point of unwritten law and honour to continue membership in whichever body chance had happened to place him. He resented those who altered their morning habits and broke through the magic circle, and showed his displeasure by word or look, according to the traditions of the body to which he belonged.

Thus it was that Raymond, who was a member of the ‘plebs,’ having risen unusually early, was met with severe and threatening looks as he took his seat at the table. The fluttering in the dove-cotes was barely stilled when, horror, another intruder arrived on the scene of mastication. As if this were not sufficient outrage in itself, the breakers of the peace seemed in good humour with the world and actually dared to talk! With frigid looks the early risers hastily finished their meal and retired with ruffled dignity.