From seawards 'came the heavy revving of British and

American jet carrier planes. Bellatrix looked forlorn, guarded only by a small naval launch. The prying small craft were missing. The reason was on the radio. The BBC said: ' Last night the body of Commander Peace, the British naval hero who is to be buried today with full honours at sea in the

Seychelles Islands, was conveyed aboard H.M.S. Amirante. As listeners already know, Commander Peace will be committed to his final resting-place by the unusual method of firing his coffin from a destroyer's depth-charge mortar.

Television cameramen have been stationed aboard the destroyer Amirante and, by courtesy of the Admiralty, viewers in many countries will be able to see' the actual moment of firing..

With an oath I switched off. Cap under my arm, I strode down to the pierhead to the launch taking me to Loch Ven- nachar. They hadn't expected me early and I had the bridge to myself. A few cables' length away was Amirante. Cameramen, reporters, news commentators and Tv crews clustered round the stern depth-charge throwers. Peace's coffin was lashed to one of them, shrouded by a tarpaulin. I tried to watch the fleet, but my eyes always went back to that.

Two hours later I still stood alone on the bridge wing, as chief mourner who couldn't mourn. I had been treated by the C-in-C's staff as a sort of pariah, set apart by being

Peace's friend, but without the status of a relative. The Defence Minister and naval officers stood together in reverent silence as the Fleet Chaplain intoned the well-known words into a microphone. Black cassock and white surplice blew in the wind, a foil to naval blue and gold braid and black formal coats. The fleet steamed slow ahead. For miles ahead and astern was a superb array of missile cruisers, aircraft carriers, fleet destroyers and corvettes. In the centre, near Loch Vennachar, were the tall sails or conning-towers of six nuclear submarines. This was Britain's crack Limuria