Love and the Loveless (26 page)

“Well, sir——”

“Do you, or don’t you?”

“I do, sir.”

“What have you to say?”

“I knew what I was doing, sir. Permission to say something more, sir.”

“Well?”

“I wouldn’t have gone off had we been in the line, sir.”

“What else?”

“Nothing, sir.”

“Cutts?”

Wretched eyes lifted a moment to officer-face; Adam’s apple jerked about; jaws silently champed; hands clasped tightly; full lips wobbled; mouth opened, no words came.

“I don’t think you’ve been fair to Sergeant Rivett, you two men. He looks after you in the section very well, and has never crimed a man in all the time we’ve been out here. So you take advantage. If we don’t take you before the C.O., what happens when it gets about? The sergeant may lose his stripes. I may get sent back to the base as incompetent, and perhaps lose my commission. But this is a volunteer citizen army, or was when you joined up. I think you both ought to apologise to Sergeant Rivett. But let it be understood that if it happens again, you’ll be for it.”

“Yes, sir! Sergeant Rivett, I ask pardon.”

Cutts began to tremble, then to shake. Sobs broke from him. Phillip walked away, saying to Nolan, “Look after your China.”

*

Early one morning of threatening rain the company moved north, by way of Neuve Église and Dranoutre, to the area of the Monts de Flandres which dominated the plain around them. Once again the red, black, and white striped wooden privy was a sight remarked by many, as it was borne on the last limber through Locre, lying between the Scherpenberg and Mont Rouge. These low flat hills of gravel and sand topped by a scrub of various thin trees, hid powerful telescopes trained upon the almost imperceptibly sloping ground of the Salient rising to the Flanders Ridge seven miles away to the east.

“I bet the Germans will recognise this
schissen-hausen
,” said Pinnegar, riding beside Phillip. “They know where they left it, near Achiet-le-Grand, and that we’ve come from there.”

“Are you serious?”

“Of course I am! The Germans know more about us, than we know about ourselves!”

By taking minor farm roads and lanes they arrived in the late evening west of Poperinghe. Remained three final, weary, dusty miles along the road to Dunkerque, before they came to their destination, the oakwoods about Proven. Here were hundreds of acres of tents and semi-circular iron huts, arranged in camps with names like Portland, Putney, Pimlico, Piccadilly, Partridge, Paddington, and Pardon.

“Piffle and Putrid would be more like it,” remarked Pinnegar, for the congested sight added to the spirit of weariness. The air of summer, which as the column passed through fields of ripening corn, beet sugar, and flax, surrounding old red-brick farmhouses among barns, middens, and moats, had given an illusion of freedom, but now it was tainted by the smell of incinerators. Everywhere the undergrowth was trodden flat, the place made barren.

They were billeted in Parkhurst, the name of a prison in the Isle of Wight, and just about as appropriate, said Pinnegar, who with Lucky Lukoff, the elderly South African, was off on a binge to Poperinghe.

Downham had discovered in the Camp Commandant an old schoolfellow, and had invited him to dinner, so the remaining officers were not given leave. Jules did his best with an omelette made of ducks’ eggs, followed by tinned chicken, tinned cream, and tinned peaches. Downham and the staff-captain shared a bottle of champagne, the other four drank whiskey and chlorinated water. Gunfire buffeted the air within the iron shelter.

After dinner, bridge was proposed. They would cut for the two odd-men-out. At once Bright said he didn’t want to play, got up, pushed back his chair and left the hut without a word.

The others cut for odd man out. Phillip lost, and went quietly to a far corner of the hut, where his servant had put up his camp bed, undressed, got into his sleeping bag, and turned his face to the corrugated iron wall.

But not to sleep. Hopeless thoughts passed through his mind. At last, seeking relief, he turned over and watched the players in the light of several candles stuck in bottles. The flames were shimmering, gunfire must be vibrating them, not a draught, otherwise they would be flickering. At last the game was over, the Sparklet siphon hissed, the staff captain had a final drink,
then Downham went through the door with him and the two others, new men whose names he did not know. They had joined while he was on leave. It was good to be alone again. He was about to hop out and blow out the candles when the door opened again, and Downham strode furiously towards him, chain-spurs jingling.

“You and Bright are a couple of yobs. Bloody manners, both of you. Dammit, man, haven’t you learned anything during the time you’ve been in the Army? The Camp Commandant was our guest!”

“I was feeling pretty dull, and didn’t want to affect the party. I’ve been up since four this morning, and have not felt very well all day.”

“Even so, why didn’t you ask permission to go to bed, instead of slinking off? You had no idea of how to behave when you first came to the office, and you’ve learned nothing since, that’s fairly obvious! You’re slack, you leave everything to your sergeant; if you don’t make an immediate improvement, I shall get rid of you. Now take this as a final warning!”

“Excuse me,” mumbled Phillip. He ran to the door, and was sick outside. The feeling of relief was great. “I think it was those ducks’ eggs, they seemed suspicious to me. Ducks feed in all the filthy drains out here.”

“Too much whiskey, more like it. That reminds me. I understand that two of your drivers got drunk the day before yesterday, after absenting themselves without leave. Why didn’t you bring them up to my Orderly Room?”

“I didn’t want to bother you, sir.”

Major Downham stared at him. Then he burst out, “Who the hell d’you think you are?”

“Well, sir, they’re my men, after all, and I’m responsible for them. They do their job, and surely that’s what matters?”

“I like your bloody nerve! My God, you take the biscuit! It’s like your damned cheek to assume powers that you don’t possess! Why, it’s a case for the Colonel. Or do you consider yourself superior to him?” concluded Downham, sarcastically.

“Well, as a matter of fact I looked it up in General Routine Orders, No. 585, where it states that the Court must carefully consider the circumstances in which a man absented himself with a view to avoiding any special or dangerous duty; also this should be borne in mind when considering what charge should be brought, at the discretion of the Convening Officer.”

“Really! Do you happen to know what a Convening Officer is, by any chance?”

“I didn’t think it necessary to go so far as that, sir. After all, I was in the best position to judge. I know the two men concerned fairly well.”

“A Convening Officer, let me tell you, is a senior officer on the Adjutant-General’s staff!”

“Well, sir, I can only say again that they were my men, and I’m looking after them. Both have been under considerable strain, one ever since 1914.”

“Like you, I suppose, at Messines?”

Phillip took a deep breath, and trying to overcome the quaver in his voice, appealed to his senior. “Look here, Downham, as I used to call you, can’t we drop this sort of thing? You’ve had it in for me, ever since I romanced to you, that first morning at the office, when I said I’d been wildfowling in the Blackwater estuary, when I hadn’t. I know I was a damned fool over that. I’d read about it, and longed so much to go, and suddenly found myself saying that I had. And there’s another thing”—he was near to tears—“did you have to sneer at me when I came home wounded, when you said to Mr. Howlett and Hollis that no doubt I’d been running away, because a bullet happened to pass through the front of my leg and tear away most of my behind, as bullets often do! Can’t we let bygones be bygones? I apologise for my lapse in not asking you if I might withdraw from the mess, but honestly, I thought dinner was over, when cards were suggested. Shall we shake hands on it?”

Downham seemed as surprised as Phillip felt about this outburst.

“All right,” he said, at length. “Only why can’t you be like other fellows? You’re such an ass, somehow. I can never quite make you out. Anyway, you must pull your socks up and stop leaving all the work to your sergeant. Do your job, and stop miking; and no one will be better pleased than I.”

“Very well, sir, I’ll do my best!”

They shook hands on it.

Phillip slept soundly until Morris awakened him with a cup of tea at five o’clock next morning, in time for early stables. Later in the morning, he was given permission by Downham to accompany Pinnegar into Poperinghe to draw company pay from the Field Cashier. The first thing they did after dismounting and handing over reins to grooms was to go
into the Aigle
d’Or for a drink. Hardly had they entered when Phillip exclaimed, “Good God! I know that man!”

A staff officer, whose wooden hand was covered by a black glove and fastened by a swivel to his belt, and one eye covered by a black patch, was talking to three colonels at the bar.

“Perhaps this place is reserved for the Staff, Teddy,” he said, hesitating at the door.

“We’ve as much right to be here as any staff wallah! I’m thirsty.”

“I’ll find out if it’s their mess.”

He asked a hatless sergeant, a smooth man with well-tailor’d jacket, non-regulation brown shoes, and knife-edged creases to his trousers. The sergeant was impersonally genial, in the manner of his master. He was the sergeant-servant of the Corps General. “‘B’ mess is here, sir, for which the dining room is reserved. The public restaurant is down the passage.”

“That is Major West, isn’t it, sergeant?”

“Yes, sir. Major H. J. West, from G.H.Q. Giving a lecture, here in the town this afternoon, sir.”

“Where, d’you know?”

“In the Convent School, west of the church.”

“Is it only for the Staff, d’you know?”

“I think it’s for battalion commanders downwards, sir.”

The sergeant bowed and smiled slightly, before moving away on the Phillips soles of his highly polished shoes. He had his own valet, or batman, who gave both the general’s, and the sergeant’s, boots and shoes the real, much-boned Sir Garnett shine.

“Yes, it’s ‘Spectre’ West all right, but I hardly like to speak to him, Teddy. I can’t barge in——”

This feeling of diffidence was not lessened by Phillip’s awareness that Pinnegar’s appearance was a little on the loud side. He was wearing his non-regulation wide-cut salmon-pink breeches, floppy cap of thin material of very nearly the same shade, matching his shirt and tie. This kit somehow emphasised his I-don’t-give-a-damn-for-anyone manner. What a cad he was to think such thoughts about dear old Teddy …

“Anyway, I don’t like the look of the place. Let’s go to La Poupée.”

They went to a small street off the Square. It was crowded. They had to wait ten minutes, constantly being shoved as more and more officers tried to get in behind them. Pinnegar expressed his disapproval of the conditions in a grumbling voice.

“The bloody place has been commercialised.”

Phillip thought this rather funny, since the real name was Café de la Commerce.

“Listen to that bloody bell every time the door opens. You’d have thought they’d have had the sense to take it down.”

The bell rattled again. “They’ve got far too many tables in here. If anyone took a deep breath, they’d all tip up, one after the other.”

Phillip laughed; and thus encouraged, Pinnegar went on, “But if anyone sneezed, fifty bloody wine glasses would ring a carillon and people’d think the war was over!” Gazing mordantly around, “Look at that waitress, I bet she gets a cheap thrill squeezing between the tables!”

“Steady on, old boy!”

“What the hell? They don’t understand our language, except napoo, san fairy ann and, of course, jigajig.”

Thank heaven there was such a row going on, no-one was likely to hear. At last they could sit down.

“Two Bifteks mit Bombardier Fritz. Vin rosé, une bouteille”—he held up one finger—“to commencer avec. Comprit, ma fille?” The girl went away nose in air. “See what I mean, Phil?”

“You offended her, Teddy. It should be jeune fille, or mademoiselle.”

“What the hell’s the difference? Why the puritan attitude? You don’t understand girls. They’re just like men, only the other way round—receivers, not transmitters. The little girl here has probably slept with half the fellows in the room.” When the girl came with the steaks and fried potatoes, he said, “My friend here thinks you ought to be called a jeune fille. I told him—you know your way about, eh?”

“S’il vous plaît, m’sieu?” She smiled down at Phillip. “We have a ver’ nice cherry patisserie to follow. May I reserve slices for you?”

“You speak very good English, ma’mselle,” ventured Pinnegar, winningly. “You are far too pretty to think only about cooking, eh? Am I right?”

“Pleas’, m’sieu? Two patisseries—cherry?”

“That’s right. Vous make up for it trés chérie, ma’mselle, ma chérie.” He patted her hand.

“Two pieces of cherry tart, m’sieu, oui?”

“Oui! And une autre bouteille, comme ça, vin rosé. Merci
beaucoup, ma chérie! I—I think I’ve clicked,” he said to Phillip, when she had gone.

I don’t, thought Phillip. And twenty minutes later, Pinnegar’s optimism had gone with the wine. The steak, he said, as he tried to detach fibrous wedges from between his teeth, was nothing but old cow. “I knew by the yellow fat, as soon as I saw it. Deux cognacs, fine, comprennez?”

“C’est triste, m’sieu, il n’y ena plus! Fini! C’est la guerre, m’sieu!”

So they had calvados, which Pinnegar said was made from apples. It was fiery, and burnt a way down the gullet. “Hell,” he said, “I feel as though I’ve swallowed a lot of shrapnel bullets.” He took another sip. “Tastes more like potato alcohol to me. You know, they distil any bloody thing nowadays. This is probably made from petrol.”

“Have a cigar with me, Teddy?”

“I don’t mind if I do.”

Two rather yellow cigars arrived in a wine glass. Pinnegar made a wry joke. “Even the bloody cigars are in khaki! Look at them, the colour of——” Phillip coughed loudly to hide the word. He wished Teddy would damn-well shut up. “Like bloody trench mortars, aren’t they? What the hell you see to laugh at, beats me!” Pinnegar, after sniffing, rolled one near his ear. “If it crackles faintly, it’s fit to smoke.” He listened. “Only just made, by the way it keeps silent!” He began to laugh. “These Belgians are bigger robbers than the French.” He bit off an end, spat it out, and tried to light it on Phillip’s fusee. He sucked for some time.