He added three short subheadings: “EngineRoom Branch: satisfactory.” “Telegraphy and Coding: adequate.” “Signal Branch: excellent.” Then he took a fresh sheet of paper. Seldom, if ever, is it objectified, granularized and trivialized (and I use this term very, very circumspectly) in the way that it is here - and therein lies the glory of this book. The pervading spirit of the book is ennui - punctuated indiscriminately with rare picquances of drama. At the beginning, there was time for all sort of things - making allowances for people, and joking, and treating people like sensitive human beings, and wondering whether they were happy, and whether they - they liked you or not. But now, now the war doesn't seem to be a matter of men any more, it's just weapons and toughness. There's no margin for humanity left - humanity takes up too much room, it gets in the way of things. Nicholas Monsarrat". Historic Naval Fiction. Archived from the original on 17 August 2016 . Retrieved 11 January 2015. The Ship That Died of Shame, and Other Stories (1959) (comprising The Ship That Died of Shame; Oh To Be in England!; The Reconciliation; The List; The Thousand Islands Snatch; Up The Garden Path; The Man Who Wanted a Mark IX; I Was There; The Dinner Party; Licensed To Kill; Postscript)

This had been on my "to read" list for years. The notion of "war at sea" is not one that comes easily to me. I once had an argument with someone whilst rowing on Roath Park Lake. I got scared, because I was in a position of conflict with about 2 feet of water below me. It reminded me of the time, one balmy June day, when the clinker I was rowing in on the very warm Isis river sprung a leak. Two of the scariest moments of my life. It is a masterpiece, I feel in some respects very ahead of its time (coming from my novice literature experience) it doesn’t shy away from anything, even delving into the troubles of married life with a no holes barred approach, which I would guess for the time it was written was taboo to say the least. This book focuses on humans that are thrown into war from their peacetime lives. Accountants, bankers, journalists, cargo ship captains, pension seeking peacetime sailors, are all placed in a war that they, as individuals, had very little to do with its inception. From there, the changes in the characters are illustrated through the most extreme of circumstances and the ever-accumulating risk associated with time. Decisions are made and sacrifices are suffered. The enemy becomes transformed from humans with differing points of view into mere objects of resistance: worthy of a hatred that can only be bestowed upon the most inhuman of threats. And the defenders are transformed into machines that are virtually unaware of the hatred that they display. Resigning his wartime commission in 1946, Monsarrat entered the diplomatic service. He was posted at first to Johannesburg, South Africa and then, in 1953, to Ottawa, Canada. He turned to writing full-time in 1959, settling first on Guernsey, in the Channel Islands, and later on the Mediterranean island of Gozo (Malta). Over half a century later, the historian Paul Kennedy still considered Monsarrat's fictionalisation of his experiences as the best and most authentic guide to the mentality of the wartime escort commander. [2] Film and radio adaptations [ edit ]Monsarrat was born on Rodney Street [2] in Liverpool, Lancashire, to parents Keith Waldegrave Monsarrat FRCS (among the most eminent surgeons of his time) [3] and Marguerite Turney. [1] Monsarrat was educated at Winchester College and Trinity College, Cambridge. [4] In his autobiography, he wrote that the 1931 Invergordon Naval Mutiny influenced his interest in politics and social and economic issues after college.

Ericson ripped open the envelope, and read slowly and carefully. It was what he had been waiting for. Vagg, Stephen (27 July 2019). "Unsung Aussie Filmmakers: Don Sharp – A Top 25". Filmink. Archived from the original on 2 August 2020 . Retrieved 14 February 2020.

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The bell of the wireless office rang sharply, breaking the silence, and Leading Signalman Wells, who was standing by the voice-pipe, bent down to it.