Derek Daventry\'s arrival at Sableridge Marine Depot could hardly be described as imposing. It might have been picturesque, or at least bizarre.

Upon alighting at Fisherton Station he learnt on enquiry that Sableridge was a good six miles by road, lying, as it did, at the entrance to the extensive Fisherton Harbour. He waited for some time at the railway station in the hope that one of the R.A.F. motor-transport vehicles might put in an appearance. Thwarted in that direction, he tried in vain for a taxi or even a "growler". Finally he bargained with a sleepy youth in charge of a very ramshackle wagonette, who, in consideration of a pecuniary largess of ten shillings, condescended to drive the newly-joining officer to Sableridge.

At a leisurely six miles an hour the wagonette set out on its journey. Apart from the slow pace and the atrocious jolting, Derek enjoyed the ride. Compared with the devastated fields and villages of France the prospect looked entrancingly peaceful as the road wound round the eastern side of the harbour. The tide was in. There was little or no wind, so that the water had the appearance of a vast lake, studded with islands, and backed by numerous hills that culminated in a bold down of a height of six hundred feet or more.

Then a rise in the road brought him in sight of Sableridge, a long peninsula of what appeared to be hummocks of drifting sand clothed in places with coarse tufted grass. Almost every hillock bore an architecturally picturesque house, while the red-tiled roofs of others were visible in the hollows between the dunes. At the far end, where the waters of Fisherton Harbour rush in at the rate of five knots to meet the waters of the English Channel, was a large white building. At no very distant date it had been a popular hotel; now, as the White Ensign floating from the gaff of a tall flagstaff indicated, it was a Government building—the Marine Depot of the R.A.F.

Having reported, Derek was shown his quarters—a large, airy room on the first floor with a balcony from which views of the greater part of Fisherton Harbour could be obtained. This room, he found, he had to share with another lieutenant.

Save for the latter\'s personal belongings, it was as bare as Mother Hubbard\'s cupboard, the officers being in unfurnished quarters, for which they drew the sum of half a crown a day.

His batman, having deposited Derek\'s kit-bag on the floor, enquired whether he was to fetch the new arrival\'s equipment from the station; to which Daventry had to reply that there was no more forthcoming at present.

Left to himself, Derek took stock of his surroundings. The room required but little attention, but the view without was enthralling. It was during working hours. Motor-boats of all types and speeds were running to and fro. "Skimmers", credited with a speed of fifty knots, and "hydro-glisseurs", weird-looking contraptions consisting of six floats lashed in pairs and driven by an aerial propeller, formed part of the R.A.F. flotilla; while, in acute contrast to the mosquito-like craft, there were two "drifters" lying at moorings and a third slowly "chugging" her way against the tide. These craft, like their more select sisters, bore the distinctive red, white, and blue circles of the R. A. F.

Just beyond a little pier lay the "guard-ship", a subsidized coaster, painted grey, and provided with a towering superstructure. She, too, flew the White Ensign in her r?le of guardian of the port.

Then, in contrast to the war-time conditions, were the square-sterned fishing-boats, mostly painted white and carrying tanned sails. Good, wholesome, weatherly boats they were, manned by greybeards and youths, who "carried on" while their respective sons and fathers were patrolling in armed merchant-cruisers and drifters to frustrate Fritz\'s knavish tricks.

"In peace-time I should be paying three or four guineas a week for this room," thought Derek. "Now I\'m being paid to occupy it, and am about to have sea trips free, gratis, and for nothing. This is some stunt."

At tea Derek was introdu............