The First Casualty (5 page)

SEVEN

A welcome dinner

While Kingsley was spending the first evening of his sentence at Wormwood Scrubs, Viscount Abercrombie was taking his first dinner with the officers of his new battalion. A formal dinner had been arranged to welcome new arrivals. It had been rather a splendid evening, considering the circumstances under which the banquet had been organized. The battalion cooks, in conjunction with the various officers’ servants, had put in a heroic effort, scouting far behind the lines on bicycle and on foot, back beyond the devastation, back to where as if by magic the world was normal again. A world where there were crops in the fields, animals in the pens and fresh butter every morning. It felt so strange to venture outside the land of mud, to cross that blurred line only an acre or so wide which ran north/south through Belgium and France and travel to where the world was in colour once more. To cross in a few short steps from a brown and grey existence to one of vivid greens, reds and yellows. To purchase (at exorbitant prices) good clean wholesome things and carry them back across the thin divide, back into the hell that man had created. But carry them back they did and, with the addition of what their masters could donate from the food parcels they had received, a magnificent dinner was prepared.

There had been two types of soup, roast goose, roast pork, a magnificent salmon and to follow cherry tart and treacle pudding, plus cheese, water biscuits and savouries. Decent wines had been acquired, also port, brandy and Scotch whisky. Viscount Abercrombie’s welcome contribution had been an enormous box of very large and very fine Havana cigars.

‘I sent my man to Fortnum’s for ‘em,’ Abercrombie explained loudly as he sent them round with the port. ‘I said I want ‘em big as Zeppelins! Big as a Hun hausfrau’s howitzers!’

Abercrombie was different now to how he had been at the Lavender Lamp Club. A little louder and a little coarser. He was wearing his mask.

The dinner had taken place in a ruined school hall which had been requisitioned as the officers’ mess. Many candles had been lit and a portion of the regimental silver had somehow been brought out of storage in order that the loyal toast might be made in fine silver-plate goblets instead of the usual tin mugs. The candlelight twinkled on the shiny service as every man stood and saluted the King Emperor.

Prior to the loyal toast the colonel had made a hearty speech of welcome to those officers who had joined the battalion since last it had campaigned.

‘Some of you fellows are still wet behind the ears and some of you are old lags come to us from disbanded formations elsewhere on the line,’ he said. ‘Either way you are East Lancs now and I hope you’re as proud to be with us as we are to have you!’

There was much cheering at this, in which Abercrombie joined enthusiastically. Opposite him at the table, across a centrepiece artfully contrived from paper flowers arranged in an upturned German helmet, sat Stamford, the young subaltern whom Abercrombie had befriended at the Lavender Club. Stamford was not cheering. Looking rather sad and serious, he was trying to attract Abercrombie’s eye, as he had been doing all evening with little success.

‘Now, as you all know,’ the colonel continued, ‘we don’t hold with snobbery in this battalion. Officer and man, we’re all in this together. However, I would like to offer a special welcome to one particular officer. You have all heard of Viscount Abercrombie, of course. Something of a hero at the Somme, but then we’ve got a fair few of that sort amongst us and we certainly don’t crow about it, eh? A medal or two’s all very fine until you see how many those damn Staff wallahs have on
their
chests and realize it’s all rot anyway!’

Hardly surprisingly, there was renewed cheering at this and some banging of spoons, over which the colonel was forced to appeal for silence.

‘What we’ve never had amongst us before, however, is a published poet, of all the damn things, and a famous one to boot. Now I have to say that as a rule I don’t hold much with poetry. To be quite frank, I think pretty much everything written along those lines since Tennyson has been absolute bilge. Complete tommyrot. However, I don’t mind telling you that I make an exception for the work of our brother officer here. ‘Forever England’ really moved me. I remember when I first heard it, it brought tears to my eyes.’

‘But then again, sir,’ Abercrombie interjected boldly, ‘so does mustard gas!’

There was huge laughter at this quip, in which the colonel was happy to join.

‘Damn right, Captain. Damn right. And most poetry
is
bloody gas, if you ask me. Well anyway,’ the colonel continued, ‘there you are. Well done and all that, and since by reputation you fight even better than you write, let me say, Abercrombie, that we are proud and excited to have you amongst us. What’s more, from the chitter-chatter I’ve heard from various WAACs, lady drivers and nurses about the place, and God’s blood,
can’t
they chatter!’ — more laughter at this, of course — ‘
they’re
pretty proud and excited to have you amongst us too! Eh? Eh? Lucky dog, Abercrombie! Why, even my own damn wife has written telling me to be sure to get you to sign a copy of your damn book!’

‘Happy to oblige her ladyship, sir!’ Abercrombie said, making a small bow from his seat. There was still more laughter at this and a voice called out that fellows should be careful not to let Abercrombie near their sweethearts, for he would no doubt steal them away.

After this, the colonel called for silence and his expression became more serious.

‘Now I know, Abercrombie,’ he said, ‘that like many other fellows around this table you have come to us because your previous mob was pretty badly shot up and had to be disbanded after the last big show. Most of the Pals’ outfits have gone that way and most of us have seen many chums and fine comrades go with them.’

Abercrombie nodded. Perhaps it was the memory of his departed comrades that caused his hand to shake a little and upset a glass, which fortunately he had only that minute drained to the dregs.

‘But the sad demise of the London Regiment (Artists Rifles),’ the colonel said, ‘has been the 5th Battalion East Lancs’ gain. So good, that’s it. Well done you. Honoured to serve with you and well done all.’

Somebody began to beat the table at this and there was prolonged applause, with all eyes centred on Abercrombie, who stared at his untouched cheese plate and smiled shyly as if to say that he wished they would not make such a fuss.

When the applause had finally subsided it was possible for the colonel to finish his speech, which was a surprise to his audience who had thought he’d already finished it.

‘Now I don’t think it’s any secret that things are hotting up around here,’ he said. ‘Brigade has been brought up to strength and you’ve all seen the amount of ordnance that those damned noisy fellows in the Royal Artillery seem to be stockpiling. Well, if there is to be another show soon, and I don’t think I’m giving away any intelligence secrets when I tell you that it seems pretty ruddy likely, I could not wish to go forward with a finer body of men. Enjoy yourselves tonight, for tomorrow we are back in the line. Gentlemen, the King.’

The company rose to their feet and raised their glasses to George V, and soon afterwards the party began to break up. It had been a wet summer and most of the officers present had not slept in a dry bed for weeks, so they were naturally anxious to make the most of their last night in billets, even though for the most part this small luxury represented little more than a straw mattress on the floor of a ruined cottage.

Abercrombie, who had only that day arrived from England and was hence not so anxious to sleep, went outside to smoke a final cigar in what had once been the village street. It was there that Stamford was finally able to speak to him.

‘Hello, Alan,’ he said.

‘Don’t call me Alan, Lieutenant. My name is Captain Abercrombie.’

‘Of course. I’m sorry, Captain. It’s just that…Well, I tried to speak to you at Victoria and then on the boat over and in all those endless trains today. It feels rather as if you’re ignoring me.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t ignore brother officers. If you wish to speak to me you only have to present yourself.’

‘I’ve tried to catch your eye but…’

‘Catch my eye! Catch my eye, man!’ Abercrombie barked. ‘What are you, a chorus girl? This is the army, not the bloody hippodrome. If you wish to communicate with me, come to attention, state your name and explain your business.’

The moment this conversation had begun, Abercrombie had started walking away from the mess and towards the edge of the village. He had set off at a considerable pace, causing the younger man to scurry after him. The little hamlet was so small that the two of them were already on the outskirts.

‘You seem so different,’ Stamford pleaded as they passed the last of the houses, outside of which a couple of officers were lounging in the damp air, smoking their pipes. ‘I thought that we were friends.’

Abercrombie did not answer immediately. Instead he waved with exaggerated good cheer at the pipe-smoking men.

‘Just off to show this young ‘un a real firework display,’ he called out. ‘Sounds to me as if the guns are going to put on quite a show tonight.’

‘Every night is Guy Fawkes night, eh?’ one of the officers replied.

They laughed together as Abercrombie, followed by Stamford, disappeared into the darkness. When Abercrombie judged that he was sufficiently clear of the last ruined dwelling not to be overheard he turned furiously on his pursuer.

‘Now listen to me, you bloody little fool! I am
not
your friend. I am a senior officer, do you understand? I do not
know
you…’

‘But we — ’

‘We shared a drink together,’ Abercrombie interjected firmly. ‘We shared a drink together with other officers on the night before we departed. We drank in the bar of the hotel in which we were both staying.
That’s
what we did. As prospective members of the same battalion it would have been ridiculous not to. However, that does not mean that you can presume an inappropriate familiarity with your superior. Is that clear? ‘

‘Inappropriate! ‘

‘And it certainly does not give you licence to go about the place making moony eyes at me like some silly flapper.’

‘Captain Abercrombie, two nights ago you buggered me from midnight till dawn…’

Abercrombie slapped Stamford across the face.

‘Now you listen to me!’

A sudden explosion of ordnance above them lit up both their faces. Abercrombie’s was both furious and fearful, while Stamford’s had tears streaming down it.

‘Whatever may or may not have happened in London
remains
in London. Do you understand? People are put in prison with hard labour for doing what you are suggesting we did. If even a rumour of it is heard in the wrong circles a man may expect to be ruined.’

‘I would never say anything, I swear…’

‘Your bloody face is an open book, man! Every inch of you
screams
pansy and you look at me as if you were in love.’

‘I am in love!’

‘Don’t be absurd. You met me three days ago.’

‘I loved you before I met you.’

‘Listen to me, Stamford.’ Abercrombie’s tone softened, but not by much. ‘Out here, you are a very junior subaltern and I am an experienced captain and something of a lion. It is not possible for us to be friends in anything other than a comradely fashion which is above all appropriate to our ranks.’

‘But…I love you, Alan. And what’s more, I’m scared. I need help, I’m not brave like you…’

‘I am not brave! I have told you that!’

‘But your poetry!’

‘I’ve told you I don’t write poetry. Not any more.’ Abercrombie turned away. ‘Please remember what I’ve said, Lieutenant. Good night.’

Abercrombie began to walk back towards the village, leaving Stamford to weep alone.

In consideration of his rank and aristocratic status the viscount had been given a room of his own in what had once been the house of the village priest, a house that had miraculously remained standing whilst the adjoining church had been reduced to rubble. Abercrombie lit the oil lamp which his new servant had thoughtfully procured for him and, taking out paper, pen and ink from a small leather music case, he began to write a letter. A letter to the mother of a fallen comrade, with whom he had been in correspondence ever since the death of her son. In his letters Abercrombie told her how cheerful and how wise her boy had been, how brave he was and what an inspiration to his men. A
golden boy
in fact, and that was how he must always be remembered, as a
golden boy
who shone as brightly as the sun and shed a happy light on all who knew him and on Abercrombie most of all. In reply the boy’s mother would tell Abercrombie about the equally sunlit childhood her son had spent, the happiness he had brought to his parents and to all who knew him. What promise he had shown and how big and bold had been his dreams. She told him also how often the boy had mentioned Abercrombie in his letters to her, and how much comfort she and her husband took from the knowledge that the two friends had been together when their son had died.