Kenneth’s people were in India, and as the midshipman had no relations at home where he could spend Christmas, his chum Whitwell had asked his parents to invite him for the festive season.
The invitation had been sent to include Midshipman Welburn, and the three chums were looking forward to a topping time at Kindersley Manor. Whitwell’s people’s hospitality was well known to the gun-room of H.M.S. Kirkham, and even though the remaining members had their own homes in which to spend Christmas, most of them rather envied the good luck of Kenneth Raxworthy and Jimmy Whitwell.
The Whitwells did things on somewhat a lavish scale, but without ostentation. Usually, just before Christmas leave started, their car was sent to whatever home port in which Kirkham chanced to be, and Jimmy and his chums were conveyed to Kindersley Manor with the least trouble to themselves, and without any drain upon their limited exchequer. The Manor was Liberty Hall as far as the young guests were concerned. There were shooting-parties, plenty of outdoor sports and indoor amusements while—no small attraction this—Jimmy Whitwell had several decidedly pretty sisters who—to quote the verdict of those midshipmen who knew—were “sports without being sidey”.
And now, almost at the eleventh hour, the Bloke’s decree had fallen almost as swiftly and effectually as the knife of a guillotine.
There was not the faintest hope of the commander relenting. He prided himself upon his cast-iron discipline, and had never been known to countermand an order.
“Hard lines, old son,” remarked Whitwell sympathetically, adding: “We’ll think of you when you’re standing middle watch on Christmas morn, my lad!”
“Don’t rub it in,” rejoined Kenneth gloomily, as he sat down to write the letter announcing his regrets at being unable to spend Christmas at Kindersley Manor.
Contrary to usual custom the light cruiser Kirkham had not been ordered to return to her home port for the purpose of giving Christmas leave. The fishery protection cruiser Gannet, having developed engine defects, had been sent south for repairs and in consequence Kirkham was under orders to remain on the east coast pending the former’s return to her station.
Junk Harbour is never a particularly inviting spot even in summer. During the winter, conditions are simply appalling. The outer roadstead, in which the light cruiser rode to her own anchors, was practically open to gales between nor’-east through east to sou’-east, and these are the prevailing ones between September and March. Slight protection is afforded by the Mutches, a cluster of rocky islets, a few of which are inhabited by hardy fisherfolk whose daring in wresting a livelihood from the treacherous sea is equalled by their disregard for law and order as laid down by the Board of Agriculture and Fisheries.
On the outermost rock comprising the Mutches a lofty lighthouse serves as a guide to mariners making for Junk Harbour, but so exposed is this beacon that often the three light-keepers have to wait a week or more before their reliefs can come off from the little town of Mautby.