Sailors & Fairy Belles

Officers on watch in the British Navy wear brown kid gloves turned down at the wrist. There were hours last week when officers of the Atlantic Fleet amplified this costume with big-hammered Webley service revolvers bulging their hip pockets.

The fleet was anchored in Cromarty Firth, a curving 20-mi. arm of the sea bound in by grey Scotch mountains, ready to sail for autumn battle practice in the North Sea. Early in the week the 12,000 sailors of the fleet learned full details of the pay cuts imposed by the Admiralty Board in accordance with the economy plans of the National Government (TIME, Sept. 21). Because the Cabinet had given no instructions how the pay cuts were made but merely told the Admiralty the total amounts to be saved, the fleet heard last week that midshipmen and junior officers would scarcely be docked at all while ordinary seamen and the lower ratings were to receive a basic pay cut of 25%. Hardest hit were veterans who had enlisted prior to 1925, when an earlier reduction from Wartime pay went into effect with the understanding that sailors who had enlisted prior to that date would continue to draw pay at the original rate.

It was the port watch's afternoon for shore leave. Jolly-boats went in to the little town of Invergordon where the Navy has a large recreation hut and British brewers have a number of very large pubs. Soon officers in their wardrooms on the ship heard disquieting news. A group of Irish sailors from the mighty Rodney were raising a ruckus in the Navy canteen, damning the pay cuts, threatening mutiny, singing "The Red Flag"!

Word was flashed to London. Next day when the starboard watch went ashore there were more mass meetings. There was no more talk of Communism; one Communist agitator that suddenly appeared was beaten up and kicked out of town. But the men meant business. In the morning the acting Commander-in-Chief Rear Admiral Wilfred Tomkinson signalled the battleship Valiant to hoist anchor and lead the line out to sea.

From ship to ship the message passed, from the Rodney to the Nelson, the Hood, the Repulse, the York, Dorsetshire, Norfolk, Warspite and Malaya. All eyes were on the Valiant. Would she obey orders? If she did it seemed certain that the rest of the fleet would follow. But on the Valiant boatswains piped themselves blue in the face. The crew remained below decks. Officers had an anxious huddle on the quarterdeck. Conscious that the eyes of Britain were on them, they attempted to hoist anchor themselves. Forward they found two pickets of thick-necked sailors standing guard over the winches. The sailors were respectful.

"Beg pardon, sir, but it's no go," said the spokesman. "If you get one anchor up, we'll drop the other."

The officers retired in good order. As soon as it was seen that the Valiant could not sail, sailors swarmed like bees over the turrets of all the ships, waving and cheering. Rear Admiral Tomkinson promptly cancelled all shore leave, and the greatest naval mutiny in 134 years was under way.

It was an orderly mutiny. There was no violence. Sailors simply refused to obey orders. They would not stand watch. They would not even man the launches. Those much maligned warriors the Royal Marines had to ferry Rear Admiral Tomkinson ashore to answer a hurried summons to London. The 12,000 sailors in Cromarty Firth worked off their energy by community singing, not "The Red Flag" but their own old ballad, "The Frothblowers' Anthem." Hour after hour the refrain rang out:

The more we are together, together, together,

The more we are together

The merrier we will be;

For your friends are my friends

And my friends are your friends.

The more we are together

The merrier we will be.

Officers pacing the bridges in their brown kid gloves developed quite a distaste for it.

The Ancient Order of Frothblowers is a semi-charitable organization of beer drinkers enormously popular in the Navy. Dues are five shillings a year, payable in advance. Most of the money is given to charity. Members receive a pair of blue-enameled cuff buttons engraved with the initials F. B. Female members receive a bracelet with an F. B. tag. Because it seems ungallant to the British mind to speak of Lady Frothblowers, the female members are known as Fairy Belles.

Reporters realized last week that it was the Fairy Belles more than the sailors who were responsible for the mutiny of Cromarty Firth. Said a leader aboard the battle cruiser Hood:

"We are fighting for our wives and children. The cuts cannot hit us aboard ship, but our wives, after the rent is paid, have only a pound left. How can they stand a cut of seven shillings and sixpence?"

London. Parliament was in a turmoil. One blustering Tory buttonholed First Lord of the Admiralty Sir Austen Chamberlain in the corridor and swore that the only way to uphold the Navy's prestige was to hang the mutineers' leaders, and if need be scuttle the ships! Sir Austen glared through his monocle and passed into the Chamber. There he calmly announced that the battle practice had been suspended and the warships ordered to return to their home ports. And he concluded: ''His Majesty's Government have authorized the Board of Admiralty to make proposals for alleviating hardships."

The London Press carried potent news. The mutiny was spreading. In the island of Malta the air force showed discontentment over pay cuts. At Gibraltar the Mediterranean Squadron was plainly restless. At Rosyth on the Firth of Forth sailors filed long lists of complaints. The army was placid; although, according to James Chuter Ede, Laborite M. P., privates must suffer a pay cut of some 27% and majors only a scant 4%. British policemen were none too steady. Fortunately the mutineers were as anxious to assert their loyalty to George V as they were to save their families from the breadlines. The Laborite Daily Herald printed a message from the fleet:

"We, the loyal subjects of His Majesty the King, do hereby present. ... It is evident to all concerned that these cuts are a forerunner of tragedy, misery and immorality among the families of the lower deck. . . . We still remain as one unit in refusing to serve under the new rates of pay."

"Intensive Persuasion." Next day the captains of all the warships in Cromarty Firth read the Admiralty's new orders to their crews. Ships were ordered to put out to sea and return to their home ports. British papers glossed over the next few hours: they were the tensest in the entire affair. Ringleaders refused to believe that once at sea they would not be sent to distant stations in punishment. It took two hours to get the anchors up. Grim laced sub-lieutenants slipped into their lockers for side arms. Correspondents passed over what happened below decks before the fleet steamed for home in one portentous sentence: "Officers were obliged to employ intensive persuasion."

British Discipline, Several years ago the Illustrated London News printed a photograph from the U. S. cinema What Price Glory? It showed a disheveled, drunken Captain Flagg scuffling with Sergeant Quirt over an estaminet table. Below was a pithy caption: "Not British Discipline." Since then British Discipline has suffered many a rude shock. There was the disgraceful affair off Malta in 1928 when Rear Admiral Bernard St. George Collard was compulsorily retired for shameful conduct, such as insulting Bandmaster Percy Barnacle (TIME, March 6, 1928 et seq.). Last January the crew of the submarine tender Lucia mutinied on a rumor that their Christmas leave was to be cancelled and that they were to paint ship on Sunday (TIME, Jan. 19). All papers last week harked back to the great mutiny of 1797 when the underpaid, scurvy-ridden crews off Spithead and off the Nore turned on their officers. That came in the British Navy's most glorious period. Nelson had just helped win the Battle of Cape St. Vincent. Six months after the mutiny Admiral Duncan beat the Dutch at Camperdown.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.