Young Phillip Maddison (26 page)

“A pity Father didn’t arrive in the middle of the big attack, Mum, on the Bank Holiday. Coo, that was exciting! Captain Blois lost four front teeth!”

“What, were they knocked out by force, Phillip? Surely Mr. Prout——”

“Just a mo’, Mum. I’ll come to it later. First, listen to this——

*

“‘Whitsun Monday was but a few minutes old when in the darkness we were attacked by rivals from the Bereshill Camp, who, in the endeavour to seize our Flag, were surprised and discomforted at the lightning return attack, some of our chaps going up to the Bereshill camp, unknown to those who had attacked us. Skirmishing went on until dawn. In the morning we escorted our Croydon guests to their station, helping them with their “waggon”, and on our way back (the required notice of attack having been given) we attacked the camp of the combined Fordesmill and St. Anselm’s Troops. In the words of the Camp Chronicler:—

“‘Having been apprised of our intentions, the camp was on the
qui
vive.
We had the sagacious company of Lieutenant
Oakfall, of the Kent Guides, and it was decided to make a false attack, and retreat, to draw the defence away from the point of final effort. This was partially successful, and our doughty leader penetrated nearly to the centre of the camp, where Captain Blois, perceiving the ruse, recalled his men by whistle just in time to save the day. Whether the camp should have been considered captured by our troop must remain a moot point. Our gallant Scoutmaster appealed to the opinion of an umpire, but none was forthcoming.

“‘On the contrary, the only reply vouchsafed to him was capture by six Territorials who were augmenting the hard-pressed defence. Our doughty Scoutmaster was over-powered only after a great struggle, which did not succeed in putting him on his back, as was the obvious intention. With this incident the engagement ceased, three mighty cheers being raised for our Scoutmaster on his release. Considering the impregnable position of the camp, and the strong chain of sentries with which it was surrounded, great credit was due to our Troop.

“‘In the afternoon, Mr. Purley-Prout took picked scouts to tea with the Dowager Countess of Mersea, as they had been graciously invited on the Saturday. While they were away our camp in the Home Farm paddock was the scene of some excitement. The vigilant Bereshill and Fordesmill Scouts, soon discovering that only twelve men were left in charge, resolved on a counter attack in force. Their approach was quickly seen, but our sentry was over-powered by four to one, and, it being impossible to defend the whole area of the camp, the patrol leader in charge, Peter Wallace, ordered a concentration around the Flag, and with his men, outnumbered by five to one, hurled defiance, and prepared to fight to the bitter end. The enemy halted some twenty paces from the little band, and held a consultation. Whether it was the firm mien of the defence or some other cause which decided the invaders is not known, but they retired, leaving the defenders in possession of their Flag, and defiant.”’

*

Phillip thought that a fine bit about Peter. All he and his men had done, actually, was to stand still. Cranmer had put his fingers in his mouth and let out a terrific whistle—but Mr. Purley-Prout had not put that bit in
The
Paladin.
What was thrilling was the night that followed, after it had rained, and the stars came out.

Owing to a mighty attack pending, Mr Purley-Prout took
them into a loft, up some wooden steps, in the bailiff’s yard. Mr. Purley-Prout went off on his bike, without a light, meaning to capture the Fordesmill’s Flag, while they were attacking the paddock with only the tents in it. Owls sometimes hooted in the dark mysterious woods; nightingales sang far away in the valley; and while they waited, yawning and shivering, at the top of the steps, they saw someone up the road strike a match.

There was no sound; only the light, a signal, and then darkness. For a very long time they waited; then cheers came from the paddock. It was the attack! And no one there, the Flag was in the loft! Then, at two o’clock, Mr. Purley-Prout returned, his hat down over his eyes, and with the Fordesmill’s Flag!

“He had wormed his way past their sentries, Mum! After showing us the Flag, he went back, all alone, with a paper notice, ‘Be Prepared!’, pinned by a safety-pin to their old Flag; and stuck it in its place again, without anyone seeing him do it!

“When we lay down to sleep the dawn chorus was just beginning, with the cocks in the farmyard crowing. I was very tired when we got up again at six o’clock, for a wash in the Fish Ponds, which were two miles away, there and back. Then, before we could properly cook breakfast, we had to go off again, for miles and miles, on manœuvres with other troops. Now listen to this account, Mum! It’s the big attack!

*

“‘The next afternoon, scarcely had the main body of the troop returned, hungry and weary, after their ten miles march and skirmish, and settled down to prepare their well-earned meal; scarcely were mess tins opened, and wood smoke arising, when the Alarm was sounded, followed by the order to fall in and defend the camp. The Fordesmill and Bereshill Troops, reinforced by the 2nd Sydenhams and St. Anselm’s, to a total of probably over a hundred, were seen to be swarming down behind every hedge, for a grand attack. The defenders, numbering about forty, were posted to the best advantage, and shortly afterwards the camp was surrounded on all sides, and a battle-royal began.

“‘The attack was fierce, the defence stubborn; but at last sheer weight of numbers bore the attackers through the gate, and a rush was made for the Flag, around which a furious tumble ensued. A guinea was to be the prize of the attacking scout who captured the trophy, but all who essayed were hurled back, and the guinea went a-begging.’”

Phillip had been squatting by the double-cooker, which was beginning to puff steam from the oatmeal in the pot, when the whistles of warning went. Cranmer cried, “Billo! Oley-oley-oley! Crikey, nah su’fun’s comin’, strike me pink if thur idden!” He threw his hat into the air. Then he blew his four-finger whistle. Phillip, feeling no excitement (he was very tired) stood up, forgetting his pole. A bugle sounded the alarm; he felt a little excitement then.

He saw, spread out across the chalky down-sloping field in the direction of Farthing Street, scores of advancing scouts. Others were running from the narrow strip of woodland beside the road under the oak fence of the park. Still more were scrambling up the steep bank above the quarry. There was a lot of shouting. He felt slightly dismayed.

“To your posts!” cried Mr. Purley-Prout, rolling up his sleeves. “Every man to his post, for the honour of the North West Kents!”

Seizing the bugle from the boy on guard, he blew a loud defiant blast. Phillip picked up his broomstick, and watched what was happening.

Soon poles were beating on the barb wire fence all around the paddock. Enemy scouts got over the gate, wrestling with the picket there.

“Concentrate around the flag, defend it to the last!” cried Mr. Purley-Prout.

Phillip watched them, doing nothing himself. Most of the scouts did the same. Only a few stood around Mr. Purley-Prout, grasping their poles. Phillip had no wish to fight, or defend any Flag.

Then Lieutenant Oakfall suddenly appeared on his bicycle, followed by the two other Kent Guides who were camping with him near the Fish Ponds, and cooking on an oil-stove with a smoky wick. With the Guides were two Legion of Frontiersmen, each with a big grey moustache and big brown gauntlet gloves. They wore Stetson hats, Sam Browne belts, leather shirts with red neckerchiefs, khaki breeches, leggings, and spurs on the heels of their brown boots. Like the Kent Guides, they had no horses, but rode bicycles. Phillip thought they had been heroes, somewhere or other in the past.

Lieutenant Oakfall did not look like a hero. He had one eye which bulged. It looked in a different direction to his other eye,
which was small and sunken. He spoke with a lisp. His flat khaki cap, which had a leather peak, had the band down, under his chin. Like the two other Guides, and the Frontiersmen, he wore big gauntlet gloves. Lieutenant Oakfall had tucked his gloves into his Sam Browne belt, Phillip noticed. There was a revolver holster on his belt. He had steel chains on his shoulders, and big swan-neck spurs on his boots below the strapped leggings.

“Three cheers for Lieutenant Oakfall and his Guides, and the Legion of Frontiersmen!” cried Mr. Purley-Prout, as the newcomers joined them round the Flag. Only a few of the scouts cheered. Peter Wallace had taken off his spectacles, Phillip noticed. Crikey, would there be a scrap?

“Let them all come!” cried Mr. Purley-Prout. “We are ready for them! I offer a guinea to anyone who can take our Flag!” Mr. Purley-Prout then rolled his sleeves higher, and braced his iron-studded brown brogues.

The invaders walked nearer, poles held out. Soon broomstick was knocking on broomstick. Phillip got behind a tree. The troop pressed closer round Mr. Purley-Prout, Mr. Swinerd, the Kent Guides, and the Legion of Frontiersmen. Phillip did not want to fight; he wanted to watch what the others did, so he kept behind the tree.

Two enemy scouts ran forward. Mr. Purley-Prout seized them by their arms and swung them round, so that they fell on the ground. Others took their places. More were hurled back, tumbling, wide-awakes falling off.

While this was happening, the Fordesmill Scoutmaster stood and glared at Mr. Purley-Prout.

“Who’s using force now?” he said grimly.

“You aren’t!” shouted Mr. Purley-Prout. “Come on, if you dare! A guinea for you if you can take our Flag!”

Phillip hoped they would fight. But after glaring at Mr. Purley-Prout, the Fordesmill Scoutmaster turned his back.

Then Captain Blois walked across the paddock from the gate. At this, Lieutenant Oakfall, to Phillip’s awe, withdrew his nickel-plated revolver from his holster. Surely he was not going to shoot Captain Blois? Lieutenant Oakfall had a grin on his face, while his bulging eye twitched. Pointing the pistol into the air, Lieutenant Oakfall pulled the trigger. A sharp crack followed. Golly, he was a hero after all!

“What are you doing, sir?” cried Captain Blois, brushing his
white moustaches with his gloved hand. “Who do you think you are? I order you to put down that lethal weapon this moment!”

“What authority have you for demanding such a thing?” smiled Lieutenant Oakfall, his bulgy eye twitching. He was a small man, about as high as a broomstick.

“As the senior officer holding His Majesty’s commission present,” replied Captain Blois. “Indeed, as the only commissioned officer present, I repeat my order. Firearms, even with blank ammunition, can be dangerous!”

Lieutenant Oakfall’s answer was to fire two more shots into the air.

“I challenge you on the point of
your
commission, Mr. Blois!” said Mr. Purley-Prout. “I understand that you are a Cadet Corps officer, with honorary rank while you hold that position at St. Anselm’s College, and not outside its precincts!”

“At least I did not design my uniform myself, from no known or authorised pattern!” barked Captain Blois, fixing his eyes on Lieutenant Oakfall, who was twiddling his plated revolver on his finger.

“Bluff!” cried Mr. Purley-Prout. “Sheer bluff! Imitation of Napoleon at Marengo! You find us prepared, and you cannot, with all your numbers, take our Flag! The offer of a guinea is still open!”

“As Umpire, I consider you are militarily overwhelmed and defeated, but have not the grace to acknowledge our moral superiority,” retorted Captain Blois. “Gentlemen, let us withdraw!”

Putting his whistle in his mouth, he turned round to face the assembled attackers. At that moment he stumbled on the white and black flints around the Greyhound patrol fire, which Peter Wallace had brought from below the quarry; and falling on his face, Captain Blois appeared to be knocked out. Phillip ran forward to look at him, with the others. He was groaning, and holding his mouth.

*

“‘We greatly regret,’ read out Phillip, ‘that the day did not pass without a serious accident to Mr. Blois, who, turning to give the signal for withdrawal after the unsuccessful assault, with his whistle between his teeth, tripped on some newly-laid flints around a fire, and lost four teeth. We offer him our sincere sympathy. Luckily no bones were broken, and beyond very severe
bruises and cuts, and the loss of teeth, he was not dangerously hurt, as was at first feared.

“‘And so it came to pass that a truce was called, the honours being fairly even. The camp was forced, but the Flag remained intact.

“‘Several scouts went back on Monday evening. Nothing further of interest happened.’”

*

Having read the account to his mother, Phillip ran down with his copy of
The
Paladin
to Desmond’s flat, where Mrs. Neville had told him he was always welcome. He read the printed account again, to the accompaniment of several ho-ho’s and ha-ha’s from Mrs. Neville.

“Like the newspapers, print seldom tells the truth. Your Mr. Purley-Prout, from all I hear, is quite a character,” the fat woman remarked, blandly sitting in her armchair, and pouring out tea on the tray before her, after Phillip had finished.

Phillip liked having tea in Mrs. Neville’s flat. You did not have to sit up at the table for it, unless it was in the kitchen, where anyway it was just as free and easy as in the drawing room up the stairs.

“Look at this,” she said, while Phillip ate his third doughnut. “Mr. Purley-Prout’s letter at the end of the magazine. Oh ho, he’s a downy bird, is your Mr. Purley-Prout, if I know anything about men!

*

“‘The resolve to do “good turns” wherever possible, must ever be in our minds: we must “be prepared” for jealousy, ill-treatment, enmity, but we must remember that a scout has promised to help others at any cost to himself, and the memory of that promise must make us set a good example to our enemies by our patience, tolerance, forbearance, and kindness. Don’t do this because in doing so you will “heap coals of fire on their heads”—that’s not a very great or a good motive—but do it because it is right and noble, and splendid.’