Rupert Dale sat at the writing-table before the open windows of his sitting-room in Clanton Street, Westminster. It was a glorious summer morning. The sun had torn aside the grey mantle from the face of London. The roofs and spires of the city shone. The trees rustled their leaves in the warm breeze. The roar of traffic echoed in his ears.

In trying to chronicle the events in Admiral Sir John Jellicoe's life one is faced with many difficulties, the greatest of which is that hitherto his most important battles have been fought on land, behind closed doors and, as far as the public is concerned, in the dark.