The Regiment

by Christopher Nicole

  12 – Bath, 1908-13

  ‘It really must have been terrible,’ Judith told them over luncheon. They were the only guests because the other married quarters were mostly empty; Tony Chapman’s widow had already moved out, going back to live with her family, and Billy Hobb’s wife had gone to stay with her to make sure she was all right. Judith was left somewhat in the position of a queen with no court to rule over, which was why she was so obviously pleased to see the newly weds back—or, at least, Lee.

  ‘And while the epidemic was raging,’ she went on, ‘the regiment found itself surrounded by rampaging Pathans. It fought its way out, of course. But there were heavy casualties.’

  ‘Poor old Morton,’ Murdoch said. ‘Is he going to be all right?’

  ‘Well, I believe they can cure these things nowadays. But frankly, he deserves anything he gets, in my opinion. He should have been with the regiment when the shooting started. However, I suppose that is all a part of Army life.’ She leaned across the table to squeeze Lee’s hand. ‘One simply cannot afford to look over one’s shoulder. Eyes front and keep them there, is what Martin always says—and he’s right. I think we should drink a toast to the new adjutant. And probably the youngest major this regiment has ever had.’ She raised her champagne glass. ‘How old are you, anyway, Murdoch?’

  ‘I shall be twenty-seven this year,’ Murdoch said.

  ‘Why, if you are not careful, you could be lieutenant-colonel when you are thirty-five. Martin retires in eight years’ time, unless he gets a brigade or something. Perhaps he will, after an experience like the one he has just had.’

  Not if he managed to get himself surrounded by Pathans, while half his men were on sick parade, Murdoch thought. But he knew Judith was right. However unfortunately things had turned out for Morton and Chapman, he was the youngest major the regiment had ever had. And however sorry he was to have missed the fight in India, he could not regret having avoided being in a camp suffering from cholera. Nor could he subdue the rising tide of excitement that he was now actually second-in-command of the Royal Western Dragoon Guards.

  ‘That is why you and I, my dear,’ Judith was saying, giving Lee’s hand another squeeze, ‘as the two senior ladies in the regiment, must be the very best of friends. Life can be so lonely here, when the men are away.’

  ‘I wonder you stick it,’ Lee said. ‘I mean, here in the depot, when you could surely live anywhere you chose...’

  ‘But my dear, Martin is the colonel of the regiment,’ Judith explained. ‘These people left here, the troopers’ wives and their children, are all my responsibility. I could never just wander off and leave them.’

  Which brought Lee close to choking on her champagne. ‘I know she’s being terribly sweet and all that,’ she confessed to Murdoch when they regained their own quarters, ‘but really...her reference to those poor sick men, and the suggestion that we just forget the ones who died or were killed...and they were friends of yours. You were pretty callous too,’ she added.

  ‘You simply have to be pragmatic in the Army,’ he told her. ‘You cannot keep worrying about other fellows, however close to you, who may have bought it. Otherwise you simply could not keep going. After all, I’m extremely likely to be killed some day.’

  ‘Don’t say it,’ she shouted. ‘Just don’t say it. Don’t talk like that.’ She glared at him. ‘Have you ever seen a close friend killed?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She saw the expression in his eyes, and then she was in his arms. He held her close, and she rapidly recovered her spirits. They were both still feeling their way, and although he had no doubt at all that their mutual confessions had been necessary for creating that special sense of intimacy without which a marriage cannot endure, they were both now terribly aware of how different were their backgrounds, their experiences of life. And it was clear that all the adjusting, at least in the beginning, was going to have to be done by Lee, if she was going to fit into the society in which he lived and, above all, the ethos of the regiment.

  But that she was proud of him, and that she loved him, too, he no longer doubted, as he was proud of her, and the effort she was making. But then, he was pretty pleased with himself when Reynolds had replaced the three stars of a captain with the crown of a major on his shoulder straps; at the very bottom of the ladder of field command, he was even entitled to red tabs in various places. His mother and the girls were equally delighted, and letters of congratulation arrived from people as far apart as Lord Roberts and Harry Caspar.

  *

  Lee actually found life at the depot just as unspeakable as she had suspected it would be. If in the first instance it was a relief to discover that the quarters to either side were vacant, and that there would therefore be no interminable whist or coffee parties as she had feared, this meant that her society within the regiment consisted entirely of Judith Walters, Amy Hobbs, when she returned, and Maureen Llewellyn, the padre’s wife; and none of these was a person she would have selected as a friend, hard as they all tried to make her feel at home.

  In addition, she was terrified of the regular visits which Judith expected her, as the adjutant’s wife, to make to the married quarters of the rank and file, where the wives of the absentee troopers lived in what she regarded as conditions of extreme squalor, surrounded by their children and their coughs and colds. She had to chat with them, and listen to their complaints, and try to cheer them up. To make matters worse, there was a large crop of new widows caused by the cholera epidemic, who had to be eased out of their quarters amidst wails not only of misery, but that they had nowhere to go, and could not possibly exist on their meagre pensions.

  Even more miserable were those wives whose husbands had been reported either as ill with cholera, or wounded in the battle with the Pathans, and who awaited each week’s mail delivery in dread. With the mails between England and India so slow, and private soldiers not really warranting the use of the telegraph service, it was possible for a woman to have been a widow for several weeks, her husband long since a mass of worms, before she was informed.

  ‘What an existence,’ Lee remarked. ‘I’m never sure whether I’m the planter’s wife visiting the slave barracoons, or the vicar’s wife doing her round,’ she told Murdoch. ‘They’re all so lonely, poor things. Who’d be a soldier’s wife?’

  ‘You would,’ he said jokingly. But whenever possible he accompanied her, just to make things easier.

  She also had her escape to Broad Acres, which she took whenever she could—sometimes several times in a week—to be with Philippa, to ride with her friend across the moors, play croquet on the lawn or just laze beneath the trees as summer came in, talking about anything that came into their heads.

  To her great delight, there was even an American cricket team in England that summer, the Philadelphians. She didn’t know anything about the game. ‘In fact,’ she confessed, ‘I didn’t know they played cricket in the States at all,’ and was even more delighted when Murdoch told her that the Philadelphians were quite a first-class side, and in Barton King had one of the best bowlers in the world. The touring side had no match with either Somerset or Gloucestershire, but when they played Hampshire, Lee and Philippa went over to Southampton to watch them—Murdoch could not get away. Unfortunately they were soundly beaten but she found it all very exciting.

  *

  Murdoch found that he had very little time to spare at all, and hardly got to Broad Acres for more than the odd weekend that summer, because in addition to his duties training the recruits he found that his work as adjutant, even for an absentee regiment, was quite considerable. He was fortunate, however, in finding a brilliant assistant in O’Dowd. As well as being a really top-rate horseman—he came from Northern Ireland—he was also a keen soldier in every sense, and was soon capable of taking the training sessions by himself—with some assistance from Pinder, who gave every evidence of becoming a second Johnnie Morton.

  But the summer was really mainly a period of waiting for two gre
at events. In June Lee discovered that she was pregnant, and the regiment was due home in the early autumn.

  Lee’s pregnancy was a source of great joy to everyone, and especially Mother, who had remained somewhat uneasy about Murdoch’s wife, dearly regretting the somewhat excessive enthusiasm she had shown when the engagement had first been announced. But if she was going to be presented with a second grandchild—she had long been concerned that Rosemary and Geoffrey Phillips had not improved on baby Harriet, who was at once noisy and spoiled—she was at last prepared to welcome Lee as a daughter rather than as her son’s wife.

  Lee herself was in a seventh heaven. Now she not only knew herself to be capable of motherhood, she felt that all of her sins had been expiated, and that she was really Murdoch’s at last.

  He was the least excited of them all, although he put on a good act. Of course he wanted a son to carry on the family tradition...or did he? Did he not already have one? Either way, the thought of a male Mackinder not joining the Army was inconceivable. But the thought of his son experiencing half of the hardships and misfortunes and frustrations that he had undergone in his still brief career was distinctly upsetting—however much he had also prospered. He almost hoped for a daughter.

  Then the regiment came home.

  *

  This was the second occasion on which Murdoch had found himself in the position of commanding the welcoming guard of honour rather than a squadron of the returning heroes, even if, as usual, he was the most famous hero in the regiment. As in 1902, the dragoons disembarked at Plymouth and marched up through Devon and Somerset behind their band, their tents being proudly accepted by the farmers on whose land they stopped at night—many of those farmers had sons in the Westerns—and thus the march home, as had been the case on the return from South Africa, was a long triumphal procession. Best of all, Ramage’s squadron had been relieved from Somalia, and by arrangement joined the troopship carrying the rest of the dragoons, so it was also a great reunion. As before, Sir John French came down to take the salute at the depot, and in the stand behind the box were Mother and Philippa and Lee, just beginning to show, and of course Judith and Amy and Maureen, while the wives and children of the troopers filled the parade ground beyond and cheered themselves hoarse, even as tears ran down their cheeks.

  Murdoch sat on Buccaneer out in front of the reserve squadron, sword at the salute. The men behind him now numbered very nearly two hundred, and would be much needed, he realised, as he gazed at the depleted ranks of the three service squadrons. He felt fairly close to tears himself, and could not wait for the march past to be over to dismiss his men and shake hands with Prendergast and Sergeant-Major Bishop, with Ramage and with Sergeant-Major Hanley, with Billy Hobbs and Sergeant Yeald.

  ‘We missed you, Major Mackinder,’ Yeald said simply.

  ‘Remember me, sir?’ asked a sun-browned young man with sharp eyes.

  ‘Matheson,’ Murdoch said. ‘Corporal Matheson. My congratulations.’

  Matheson looked embarrassed. ‘I didn’t think I’d make a soldier,’ he said.

  Murdoch shook his hand. ‘You were always a soldier, boy. I was proud to have you serving under me.’

  Then it was time to seek out Colonel Walters. He had already greeted his wife and the other ladies, and been introduced to Lee. ‘An absolute charmer,’ he told Murdoch. ‘Absolute. And Judith tells me there is a pleasant surprise on the way.’

  ‘So it would appear, sir,’ Murdoch said.

  Walters took him into the office, looked around at the desk he had not seen for more than two years, the picture of Ian Mackinder behind his chair, sighed and sat down. He looked far older than when Murdoch had last seen him, and indeed, than his forty-one years.

  ‘Rough, was it, sir?’ Murdoch asked.

  ‘So many good men,’ Walters said. ‘Not many from the Pathans. But cholera...it turns a man’s stomach to watch good fellows falling by the wayside, dying in their own filth. But you, Murdoch...you look fitter than ever.’

  ‘I’ve had nothing to do but get fit, this last year,’ Murdoch pointed out. ‘God, how I wish I’d been with you.’

  ‘Well, don’t. There was precious little glory, and one hell of a lot of sweat. And you’ve done a magnificent job here, as usual. That’s a fine body of men you have there. And to have you as my adjutant...I really am pleased about that.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. Do you know what they have for us to do next?’

  ‘We’ve been promised at least a year’s rest and recuperation,’ Walters told him. ‘For which I am heartily thankful. And then, I had a word with French this afternoon. It seems we may be in England for a good while yet. The Government appears to be quite worried about the situation in Europe.’

  ‘You mean the constant snarling between France and Germany?’ Murdoch asked. ‘I can’t believe either of them really wish to go to war. They loathe each other’s guts, there can be no doubt about that. But actually to start fighting again...’

  ‘I hope you’re right,’ Walters said. ‘But I can tell you that French, who after all has to do a lot of liaising with his French opposite number, thinks that they are just boiling for a scrap, to avenge the defeat of 1871. Of course they know they can’t lick Germany single-handed. But if there were some way to involve the Russians and ourselves...’

  ‘Can they do that?’

  ‘Well, the alliance, the Entente Cordiale as they call it, apparently works like this: if France fights some other power, the Russians and ourselves look on benevolently, but do not interfere. Should a third power, say Austria-Hungary, come in on the Germans’ side, then the Russians are obliged to go to the aid of the French. We are still under no obligation other than benevolent neutrality. However, should a fifth power, for example, Italy, then join the central powers, we are at least morally obliged to come in on the French and Russian side. I have to say that I agree with you that such a contingency is extremely unlikely. But the Government feels obliged to show some muscle, not only be keeping a larger than usual army here in England, but by greatly expanding the territorial units. I’m afraid our next manoeuvres are likely to be cluttered up with a lot of bloody weekend soldiers.’

  ‘Are we seriously going to be allied with the Russians, sir?’ Murdoch asked.

  ‘There are high-level talks going on, so it could happen. We’ll just do our duty, Murdoch, and let others worry about the implications.’ He held out his hand. ‘Again, I’m glad you’ll be standing at my shoulder, from here on in.’

  *

  Murdoch took a day’s leave as soon as he could and caught the train up to London, where Morton was in the hospital for Tropical Diseases, having apparently contracted more than one ailment. His friend looked fitter than he had supposed he would; he was sitting up, smoking, reading a sporting newspaper and, of course, flirting with the nurses. But he was also terribly thin and sallow in colour, and his good humour was clearly forced.

  ‘Murdoch!’ he shouted, clasping his hand. ‘Good to see you. You didn’t bring the wife? I’m not contagious, you know. Not unless I were to climb aboard, or something like that, and I imagine you’d object.’

  ‘She’s not going out right now,’ Murdoch explained. ‘You are a sly devil,’ Morton commented. ‘Left at the post when you joined the regiment, and now charging past us all.’ He looked at the medal ribbons on Murdoch’s tunic, the crown on his shoulders. ‘Past us all,’ he said sadly.

  ‘You’ll soon be up and about again, surely,’ Murdoch suggested.

  ‘So they tell me. But malaria apparently stays with you a while. And then this damned syphilis business...oh, they can cure it. I mean, I can screw with the best of them right now. But it too can come back later on, they say. Anyway, it’s the stink that surrounds a chap when he gets something like that. I’m going to be thirty-four this November. And not yet confirmed as major. If I’m not, maybe even if I am, that’ll be it in a couple of years.’

  Murdoch had never considered the implications of retirement; it se
emed a very long way away for him. But the Army had no use for thirty-five-year-old officers who had not yet achieved field rank. ‘What would you do? Supposing you do have to get out?’

  ‘God knows. Go along to Gordon Rodgers and ask for a job, I should think. Do you know he now has a house in Sloane Square, two kids and a bloody great motor car? Seems the nation is drinking more beer than ever before. Or maybe I should begin at the beginning and marry a rich wife. I assume that was the plan you followed?’

  ‘I’ve never actually asked,’ Murdoch said, surprised, in fact, to realise that he had never investigated the Caspars’ financial background. Old man Caspar had picked up the bills for the wedding without demur, and even if they did not possess a retinue of servants, he presumed that Philippa was right, and that was because theirs was just a different way of life.

  ‘Of course you haven’t,’ Morton said. ‘It wouldn’t interest you. Not with Broad Acres to flog if you ever found yourself hard up. You’d better push off before I get all bitter and twisted.’

  *

  If he was not already, Murdoch thought sadly. It was hard not to conclude that he had brought his troubles on himself. And in fact a year later Captain John Morton was gazetted major, and then promptly placed on the retired list because of impaired health.

  ‘Sad, but inevitable,’ Colonel Walters commented. ‘He was never really officer material.’

  And am I officer material? Murdoch wondered. Or am I just the most fortunate man on earth? He had now survived several battles, and several nasty wounds as well, with no more than scars to show for them; he had been awarded the nation’s two most prestigious military medals; he had escaped the consequences of his utterly irrational behaviour in South Africa; he was a major at the very early age of twenty-seven; he was popular with the new commander-in-chief designate...and he was happily married to a superb woman who even handled childbirth without difficulty. Ian Mackinder the Second emerged into the world in the spring of 1909, followed by Fergus Mackinder the Second in the summer of 1910.