Issue XI

ContentsPART ONENaval Customs

PART TWOA Toast to Richard Bolitho

PART THREEColours Aloft!

PART FOURThe Volunteers

The Bolitho Newsletter is published andcopyrighted by Highseas Authors Ltd.

This issue was originally released in 1986.

Douglas Reeman / Alexander Kent afterthe launch of Colours Aloft! In 1986.

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Part OneNaval Customs

Every day aboard HM ShipsColours are hoisted in theforenoon. In larger vessels aColour Guard and Royal Marinesband will be provided to show theproper mark of respect. In allships officers and ratings willface aft and salute as the WhiteEnsign is hoisted to mark thebeginning of a new day. Thecustom of mounting a guard forthe Colours dates from 1797when Earl St. Vincent introducedit, following the naval mutinies ofthat year. Similar marks of respect areshown when the Colours are lowered at sunset,‘Putting the Queen to bed’ as it is irreverentlytermed.

Crossing the Line Celebrations

The details of these celebrations are fairly wellknown to most people today, especially with theever-growing popularity of ocean-cruising. Fewerprobably realise that they are carrying on very oldand extremely serious religious rites. The Carthaginians sacrificed to their gods oncrossing the limits of navigation which to them

were the Gibraltar Straits. In 1675 every onepassing through these same straits was expected topay a dollar or be ducked from the yardarm. Paying a fine or undergoing some sort of testcame much earlier with the Norsemen, whoexpected every one to pass the most demandingtest before being accepted as a fully-fledgedseaman. Today the Equator remains to mark the toll-gateway to Neptune's kingdom. The ceremony maybe fun for the spectator, uncomfortable for thevictim, but it is nevertheless a lasting part of sea-lore.

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‘Colours Aloft’ by English marine artistGeoffrey Huband

Passing the Wine

Many old naval customs have grown from the needto entertain as well as the need to sustain the weeksand months at sea. In wardroom and messdeckalike where social life rubbed shoulders witheating and sleeping, casual routine became firmtradition. In a wardroom, officers always the decanters ofport and sherry from right to left when they may ifthey wish to charge their glasses, especially for theLoyal Toast to the Sovereign. It is not commonlyknown that the Sovereign's health may also bedrunk in water. No one may smoke before thePresident of the mess calls for the Loyal Toast, justas no weapon may be carried or unsheathed in themess without the penalty of a fine being ordered.

Splice the Main-Brace

This custom implied an extra tot of rum over andabove the daily issue for a particularly demandingor arduous task of seamanship. The order to Splicethe Main-Brace was also given by the Sovereignafter an inspection of the Fleet, or for a Royalbirthday. In times of war the daily tot, often unofficiallyleft neat after a particularly unpleasant battle, was agreat comforter, and the daily pipe ‘Up Spirits’brought a ready grin. Today, special events are still marked by thecustom, but only rarely. In 1970, on Black Tot Dayas it was unofficially called, the daily rum issue

was stopped. It was said that the modern sailor, amore sophisticated fellow than his wooden-wallcounterpart had outgrown the custom. It was alsosuggested that the high-tech equipment and theneed for instant readiness if required made theheady tot of Nelson’s blood redundant. Neither reason was accepted with muchenthusiasm.

Part TwoA Toast to Richard Bolitho

I t is now nineteen years since I completed myresearch and wrote the first of the RichardBolitho series, To Glory We Steer. When it waspublished the following year, 1968, and it was sowell received I actually believed I had created acharacter who would soon be sharing hisadventures with readers of all ages around theworld. In retrospect I now realise that he, RichardBolitho, that shy and heroic man, had reallydiscovered me. In the years which have followed I have alsorealised that my research into the eighteenth/nineteenth century navy has never stopped, thatwith the first book I had merely been ‘scratchingthe edges’ of those days of sail and of the self-dependent sailorman. As I searched through museums and visitedharbours, stayed at locations in places as mixed asFalmouth and Senegal to collect material andideas, I soon became aware that I was not alone.

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Letters began to arrive from readers, and as myseries progressed suggestions, old well-thumbedarticles on sea-lore and actual events made meopen a new filing system just for Richard Bolithoand his times. There have been gifts too, many of them, whichhave left me both astonished and moved. Like thelady who sent me a neatly written diary of one ofher ancestors who had been a lieutenant in a ship-of-the-line. A remarkable little book which listedall the lieutenant's division of seamen, with asketch of the foremast of the ship, numbered toshow where each sailor would be working aloft.Turn the diary over and read from the back, andyou discover a selection of jokes, songs andconjuring tricks which must have kept thewardroom in stitches. Some of the jokes were veryblue even by today's standards! Such a preciousmemento, yet this reader gave it to me because ofBolitho. An older lady sent me a copy of the originalTimes which announced Nelson’s death atTrafalgar, because, she wrote, ‘Bolitho wouldappreciate it more than most.’ I have often wondered at the attraction of theman. In these islands a love of the sea, its heritageof ships and sailors found today even in ourlanguage, is quite understandable. But nowBolitho’s stories are read and translated intofourteen languages in countries with cultures thatvary from Finland to Japan. How do they see theman and share his hopes and his disappointments?To me, of course, he is real. I would know him on

a street, or standing by some harbour wallwatching the ships at anchor. Many people havedifferent ideas of how he should look, and in theirminds can see him clearly in their own way. When I was building his family background,photographing the house in Cornwall which was tobecome his home, and gathering details of his first-described command and her company, I sometimessaw him. In hindsight it was as if he was watchingme, waiting for the right moment to make hisentrance and stamp his mold, which would carryhim through the series with me. I have been asked on occasions if he resemblesany real-life hero. There might be one. Perhapsmore like a brother than the man himself. If youlook at the portrait of Captain Augustus Keppel ashe was when he commanded the Torbay atQuiberon Bay you may see it. The same guardedindependence, the tenacity and the compassion.Those qualities are mentioned in letters to me,enough to make me believe that our visions ofBolitho are much the same. Quite recently I decided it would be nice to havea limited number of figurines created for thosereaders who have made Bolitho so much a part oftheir lives. The task is not yet completed, but whata flood I am getting from people everywhere! Ihave an uneasy feeling that Bolitho will be thehardest critic of the finished figurine, with Allday aclose second. As I travel around doing research and promotionfor the series I am struck by the different kinds ofreaders. Old sea-buffs who could never be fooled

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by careless research, youngsters who are givenBolitho as a project at school. In many schoolsBolitho is compulsory reading. A head teacherexplained once that fiction is still the best way toget them interested in history. People are oftensurprised when I tell them that fifty percent of themail I receive is from women. They write to askabout technical details, about the days of sail andlinger on a time when gallantry and courtesy evento the enemy were the rule rather than theexception. The early Richard Bolitho Newsletterswere produced to deal with some of thetechnicalities in sailing and naval matters and havesince become a regular feature. Bolitho’s home in Falmouth has become as realas the man. Portraits of his ancestors, the outdatedfamily sword which he still prefers to any regu-lation pattern, are all a part of him. Like many sea-officers of his day Bolitho was dismayed by theintroduction of a regulation sword during theAmerican Revolution. The five-ball sword, as itwas called because of the arrangement on hilt andknuckle-bow, was inferior to family blades whichofficers handed down from generation togeneration. I smile when I think of the portraits inthe Bolitho house. I once mentioned that a certainpicture hung at the foot of the stairs where Bolithowas regarding it with some trepidation as heconsidered his next voyage. After the book waspublished I had a testy letter from a fan whoclaimed that the portrait had been moved from itsproper position since the previous book! Eventelling him that the housekeeper had been spring-

cleaning would not placate him. And what of Alexander Kent, if not the creatorthen at least Bolitho’s diarist? I can only say thatmy life changed completely after he arrived toshare it. I had been a professional writer for tenyears prior to To Glory We Steer!, and yet I wasstunned by the effect of his adventures. Bolitho has been kind to me, and just a fewmonths ago in Toronto, her home in Canada, I wasmarried to Kim, who once came to hear me give atalk. Because she loved Bolitho. It seemed only right we were married on

Douglas and Kimberley Reeman ontheir wedding day in October 1985.

Bolitho’s birthday, and as the sunlight shonethrough the great windows of St. James’ Cathedralwe could feel him there, watching. When I write any other kind of book I am leftdrained, with a sense of loss at the end of it. Butwith Richard Bolitho I always have the feeling, thesure knowledge that he will be back again soon toshare his life with ours. There is a moment of pleasure when a new storyis on the bookstalls, of pride too when the fleetsailed for the Falklands in 1982. Hundreds ofBolitho books went with those ships; perhaps someof his ideals survived the war's bitterness. Nelson in his prayer, which he composed on theeve of Trafalgar, put it very well – ‘May humanityafter victory be the predominate feature in theBritish fleet’. Bolitho would approve, an’ that’s no error asAllday would say. It is almost time to beginthinking and planning the next story. As Kim and Icollect the names for the next ship’s company froma quiet Cornish village church on the edge of thesea, in the stillness of the Trafalgar cemetery atGibraltar, or from the files gathered over the years,I am grateful that Richard Bolitho of Falmouthchose me.

Part ThreeColours Aloft!

I n September of 1803, when Sir Richard Bolitho,Vice Admiral of the Red, hoists the flag above

the seventy-four gun Argonaute at Spithead, hequits the land with both eagerness and foreboding.His flagship, a French prize seized from an oldenemy, is fully manned, her captain a loyal friend.But his orders rest uneasily on his shoulders eventhough his knighthood, and the fact that next toNelson he is the youngest admiral on the Navy Listshould tell him his true worth to the country heloves. He is leaving England, troubled by a strangecoolness which has arisen between him and hisbeautiful wife Belinda, embittered too by thenation’s unpreparedness while France is even

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stronger than before the brief Peace of Amiens. In the Mediterranean, a sea well-known toBolitho in other ships, he is soon aware that in agreat war small episodes and sharp clashes ofclose-action can still merge into a personalvendetta. His old enemy, Argonaute’s originalcommander, seems to know his every move andintention, while Bolitho’s own past makes himvulnerable to attack where less quarter can beexpected than from a sweeping broadside. The qualities of loyalty and leadership, and thehaunting companionship of a lost love sustain himeven on the threshold of defeat.

Part FourThe VolunteersFollowers of Richard Bolitho will know thatAlexander Kent has written many bestsellingmodern sea stories under his own name, DouglasReeman. In The Volunteers he turns to the story ofthe men and women who served in the RoyalNavy’s Special Operations units, and who were asvaried as the methods they used against the enemyin the Second World War. Carrying out lightning raids on hostile coastsand shipping, they became a navy within a navy,each of them hand-picked for individual skills, allof them courageous in their own individual ways.Nobody knew for certain if their small but deadlyoperations made a real impression on the conduct

of the war, but they did their hazardous dutyanyway, living often beyond hope, sometimesbeyond mercy. This is a story about a handful of such people,their fears and their loves, of the resilience andvulnerability of youth at war at the time of theSicilian and Italian invasions in 1943 and of D-Dayin 1944. Some of them fought an endless fightagainst fear and doubt, some of them rejoiced inthe demands of combat, many did not survive. Perhaps they had little in common except thatthey were all volunteers.