THE CINDER PATH (20 page)

survey one after the other of them; and then, his voice quite normal sounding, he said, "Been putting you through it, has he?" His tone, Charlie noticed, wasn't

unlike that of his talkative companion in the line.

When no one answered the sergeant said, "Well,

you'll get a lot of that in the next few weeks.

And you'll have to take it whence it comes; but you and me'll get along all right so long as you don't pull any

tricks, 'cos they won't come off, I'll tell

you that for a start. And another thing I'll tell you, I can't abear tricksters. You know the kind?

Wife's goin" to have a bairn, poppin' out any

minute, browned off with being in the oven." There was a snigger at this. "Mother on her death-bed. . . .

Likely with the lodger!"

There was actual laughter now, but immediately the

sergeant stopped his pirouetting.

His face grim and his tone to match, he said,

"Now! now! we'll have no laughin'! No; no

laughin'. I'm a funny man, I know that, but I

cannot stand being laughed at."

His features slowly melted and there could have been a

twinkle in the back of his eye, but it didn't bring

forth a murmur now, and he turned and walked slowly

back up between the row of beds, saying as he did so,

"Now we've been introduced, I'll give you one

word of advice. Whenever you're told to do anything,

jump to it! Believe me, it'll save you a lot of

trouble in the end."

At the door he turned and once again his eyes

moved over them all, and then he said in that ordinary

tone that was in itself so disarming, "There's grub over in number three block, an' if you're not there within

fifteen minutes you won't eat till the morrow

mornin'. And now this is your first lesson in learnin'

to jump to it; it'll take you all of

fifteen minutes-that's if you go at it-to get your

kit put straight, to get your bed made, and this hut

left tidy. But of course if you learn to jump

to it, well, you might be able to manage it in less."

He gave three nods of his head then turned and

walked out, leaving behind him a

blank silence that lasted for about three seconds.

Then the silence was exploded by a mad scramble,

during which Charlie actually laughed one of his rare

laughs.

And Charlie's mood remained light for the next

week in spite of skinned heels, aching limbs and

indigestible food, and ears that were becoming numbed with the shouting, the bawling and the cursing. That was until the shuffle round started. It happened, he learned from one of the old hands, every so often. The numskulls at the

top found a lot of empty forms that had to be filled

in. But what did they fill them in with? A

shuffleabout: postings, here, there and every God damn

where.

The postings, of course, didn't concern the new

batch of conscripts, it merely concerned one man,

their sergeant who everybody conceded was as decent a

bloke as you'd ever get in a sergeant. Mind, that

wasn't saying much, but still they could have

worse.

And they got worse. The rest of the platoon was

only affected by the new sergeant being, what they

termed, true to bloody-minded form; but in Charlie's

case he was an old acquaintance.

The first time Charlie came face to face with the

replacement he stared unbelieving at Slater, and

when his mind groaned, Christ Almighty! not this an'

all, the words carried no trace of blasphemy.

It was as if he were addressing the Almighty and asking Him as man to man why He was leading him into these

situations.

True, he had walked stubbornly into managing the

farm, telling himself that in time experience would sit on his shoulders and make him appear as if he were cut out for the job. Then blindly, weakly like a lamb, no, like an ass to the slaughter, he had allowed himself to be

led into marriage.

But this latest situation wasn't of his choosing, either through purpose or weakness; he had been dragged

into this. No, that wasn't right; he could have got out of it, he was a farmer. But since finding himself here,

strangely, he was beginning to enjoy it; it was the

companionship, the rough and tumble among men,

ordinary, everyday men like Johnny, raw,

blunt, kindly, humorous men. Only yesterday

he was regretting not having joined up before

conscription; that was until he made himself remember

why he was here, merely to learn how to kill. However,

that

was in the future, at least it had been until this very minute when he looked down the room and saw the new

sergeant.

At first Slater didn't recognize him.

Using the trick of all sergeants he looked

silently round at the men who were standing in different parts of the room waiting for him to speak, but his eyes hadn't traversed the full circle before his gaze

stopped its roving and his eyes narrowed, then widened, while his head moved just the slightest bit forward like a bull weighing up the obstacle before it, the human

obstacle.

After a moment he allowed his eyes to finish their

inspection. Then unlike his predecessor had done

on first viewing his new charges, he made no

prolonged speech to them, all he said to the assembled

men was, "Well! well! well!" Then marching

smartly up the end of the room he stopped before the

tall figure, and again he said, "Well! well!

well!" And after a pause he added, "So

they raked you in at last."

Charlie made no answer, he just stared into the thin

face that, unlike the body, hadn't seemed to have

grown with the years but still retained the pinched look about it. The only thing that was missing was the look of fear that the eyes had carried until the day he had been

given food for blackmail.

"Strange world, isn't it, AlacFell?"

Still Charlie didn't answer.

"I was speaking to you."

There was a short silence before Charlie answered;

then in tones that the men might have expected to be used by an officer he said, "I endorse what you say, it is a strange world."

Slater's hair was cropped close yet it still

showed red, and now the colour seemed to be seeping down into his pale skin and his features went inffcontortion, his mouth opened wide, his nostrils expanded, his eyes

became slits; it was as if he were on the parade

ground and about to issue an order, but what he barked

was, "Say sergeant when you speak to me."

In the heavy silence that followed Charlie

pronounced the word sergeant in the same tone he had

previously used and it sounded like an insult.

Again there was silence before Slater spoke;

and when he did his voice was scarcely audible

except to Charlie and those standing quite near to him, for what he said was, "It's gona be a hard cinder path for

you, MacFell.

If it lies with me I'll see that there are fresh

ashes put on it every day." On this he turned and

walked smartly from the room, no eyes were turned

to watch him go because they were all directed on the

fellow most of them were thinking was barmy to have got the new sergeant's back up like that.

"You know "im?" They gathered round him now.

"He's got it in for you."

"What was that he was sayin" about cinders?"

"He'll put you on fatigues. . . . Still it

isn't a bad job; keep your hands warm."

"You must have known him afore."

"What've you ever done to him?"

"I heard about "im, he's nicknamed the Red

Sod. Take the guts out of a gate-post, they

say, he would. I'd go careful, mate, if I was

you."

As yet Charlie had answered none of the questions, but

now he looked from one to the other and said simply,

"He worked on rny farm."

"You had a farm?"

Johnny nudged the speaker and said in an aside,

"Aye. Aye, he's a farmer, up Otterburn

way."

"I thought they were exempt?"

"It seems he didn't want to be."

"He must have been a bugger," the voice muttered again. "He doesn't look like one, anything but, yet you never know. Anyway, the new un's got it in for

him for something."

The voices faded away and Charlie sat on the

side of the bed and applied himself meticulously

to rolling up his putties, and Johnny Tullett,

sitting on the opposite bed, slipped in the

button shoe under the top brass button of his

tunic and rubbed vigorously at it until it showed

a high polish; then holding it from his gaze, he

surveyed it, after which he brought it to his mouth,

breathed on it hard and began polishing again. And now as he rubbed he said under his breath, "What did you ever do to him, Charlie, to make him feel like that?"

"Nothing, nothing personally."

"Funny."

After a while Johnny spoke again, still under his

breath. "What did he mean by hintin" that your time here was gona be like a long cinder path?"

"He was referring to a cinder path on the farm."

"Oh. . . . Has it got to do with how he

feels?"

"Yes."

"A cinder path?" The words were like a large question mark, and Charlie looked up and met Johnny's

gaze and he said simply, "My father took

pleasure in whipping the lads for any misdemeanour.

He did it on the cinder path; it hurt more there when

they fell on their hands and knees."

"Good God!"

"Yes, Johnny, good God!"

They both lowered their heads to their work again until Johnny said, "I can understand how he feels.

Bugger me, aye, I can that, it's enough to colour your

resentment for life. Still"-he leant towards Charlie now"...y didn't do owt like that to him, did you?"

"No."

"Well, what's he got it in for you for?"

"I'm my father's son."

"Oh! Oh aye, I see. Has he been long

left the farm?"

"Some three years. He left when he was

twenty."

"Is that all he is, twenty-three?

God! he looks years older. Is he married do

you know?"

"Yes, he left to get married."

"Did she . . . did his wife work on the

farm?"

"Not on ours, the next one."

Johnny was now staring at Charlie and he asked

quietly, "Do you know her?"

"Oh yes, yes." Charlie nodded his head

emphatically as he said this, and again he said, "Oh yes, we were all brought up together."

"Fancy that." There was speculation in the statement.

"Yes, fancy that."

Charlie now took his tunic off and started on his

buttons, and as he gazed down at the dials of

shining brass he saw Polly's face the day she

had come to say good-bye to him. She said she had been

up to the cottages to have a last look round the old

place. There were tears in her eyes, and when he said

to her, "You shouldn't do it, Polly," she had answered, "What else is there for me?" and he had turned his head away from her gaze and said, "Life dictates to us." Her only answer to this was,

"Aye, I suppose it does." Then when he had

begun to say "Should you ever need me,

Polly ..." she had stopped him abruptly,

asking, "Why, should I need

you now? Why should I ever need you, I'm gona be

married? Oh"-her head had wagged com"...don't worry that he'll ever be tough on me. You needn't worry

about that, Charlie, for there's one thing I'm sure of, an' that is he cares for me. He always has, right from

the beginnin', and although, well, I don't love him,

I like him, and that's not a bad start." Her tone was aggressive.

"No," he had agreed with her; "that's not a bad start."

When she had offered him her hand he had held it

while they gazed at each other, seeing a life that

might have been. And then she had turned and was gone from him.

He had stood watching her until she disappeared

from view, and when he turned it was to see Slater

standing in the middle of the yard.

"Sayin' your good-byes then?" He had ignored

the fellow's tone and said, "Yes, we were saying our good-byes."

Then Slater's eyes narrowed and his lips squared

away from his teeth as he said, "You're a loser, you know that. You've wanted her, haven't you?

All these years you've wanted her, but you haven't

had the guts to face the neighbours and take her.

Your father offered her to you on a plate, didn't he?

Oh. Oh, she's told me; there had to be a

reason why bully-boy Arthur throttled your old

man. An' you know, something I'll tell you that'll

surprise you, in a way I've admired him for

doing it, but you, who watched your father bein' murdered then covered it up, why, I've despised you all

these years. You know, I used to envy you having a mother and father, and as big an old sod as yours was, I'd

have given me sight, aye, I'd have given me sight

just to have been able to call somebody father, to know who he was, or who she was. But there was you, you watched him being lynched and you covered it up, but not to save

Arthur's neck, oh no, it was because of Polly you

did it, wasn't it? "Cos you wanted to shine in

Polly's eyes, be the big hero. Now fancy that,

you a hero! Well, you've lost again, an" you always will."

How had he stood there and taken all that and not

struck out? He had wanted to. In fact, part of