‘Shall we go?’
‘Right.’
We left the house by the steps leading to what remained of the lawn, its turf criss-crossed now with footpaths worn by the feet of soldiers taking short cuts. Shrubberies divided the garden from the park. When we were among the trees, Gwatkin took the way leading to Lady Caro’s Dingle. After the heat of the afternoon, these woods were wonderfully cool and peaceful. The moon was full, the sky almost as light as day. Now that I was about to leave Castlemallock, I began to regret having spent so little time in this park. All I knew was the immediate neighbourhood of the house. To have frequented its woods and glades would perhaps have only increased the melancholy inherent in the place.
‘Do you know, Nick,’ said Gwatkin, ‘although the Company used to mean everything to me, it’s leaving the Battalion that’s the real blow. Of course there will be up-to-date training at the ITC, opportunity to get to know the latest weapons and tactics thoroughly, not just rush through them and instruct, as we have to here.’
I did not know what to say to that, but Gwatkin was just getting it off his chest. He did not require answers.
‘Idwal is pretty pleased with himself now,’ he said. ‘Let him see what it’s like to be skipper. Perhaps it isn’t as easy as he thinks.’
‘Idwal certainly enjoys the idea of being a company commander.’
‘Then there’s Maureen,’ Gwatkin said. ‘This means leaving her. That was what I wanted to talk to you about.’
I had supposed that to be the reason for our coming to the park.
‘You’ll at least have time to say goodbye to her.’
That did not sound much consolation. It seemed to me he was well rid of Maureen, if she really was disturbing him to the extent that it appeared; but being judicious about other people’s love affairs is easy, often merely a sign one has not understood their force or complexity.
‘I’m going to try and get down there tomorrow,’ he said, ‘take her out for the evening.’
‘Have you been seeing much of her?’
‘Quite a bit.’
‘It’s bad luck.’
‘I know I’ve made a bloody fool of myself,’ Gwatkin said, ‘but I don’t know that I’d do different if I started again. Anyway, it isn’t quite over.’
‘What isn’t?’
‘Maureen.’
‘In what way?’
‘Nick—’
‘Yes?’
‘She’s pretty well said – you know—’
‘She has?’
‘I believe if I can manage to see her tomorrow – but I don’t want to talk about it. She can’t make up her mind, you see. I understand that.’
I thought of Dicky Umfraville’s comment: ‘Not tonight, darling, I don’t love you enough – not tonight, darling, I love you too much …’ It sounded as if Gwatkin had had his share of such reservations. As we walked, his mind continually jumped from one aspect of his vexations to another.
‘If I’m at the ITC and there’s an invasion,’ he said, ‘I’ll at least be nearer the scene of action than here. I don’t think the Germans will try this country, do you? There’d be no difficulty in landing here, but it would mean mounting another operation after their arrival.’
‘Hardly worth it, I’d have thought.’
‘Idwal didn’t take long to get hold of the idea he was to command the Company.’
‘He certainly did not.’
‘Do you remember my saying what we call good manners are just a form of weakness?’
‘Very well.’
‘I suppose if that’s true, Idwal was right to speak as he did.’
‘There’s a lot to be said for going straight to the point.’
‘But that’s what I’ve always tried to do since I’ve been in the army,’ Gwatkin said. ‘It doesn’t seem to have worked in my case. Here I am being sent back to the ITC as a dud. It’s not because I haven’t been keen, or slacked in any way – except I know I forgot about those bloody codewords – and other people make balls-ups too.’
He spoke without self-pity, just lack of understanding; deep desire to know the answer why, so far as he was concerned, things had gone so wrong. It would be no good attempting to explain. I was not even sure I knew the explanation myself. All Gwatkin said was true. He had worked hard. In many respects he was a good officer, so far as he went. He was even conscious of such moral aspects of military life as the fact that the army is a world of the will, accordingly, if the will is weak, the army is weak. I could see, however, that one of the fallacies that made him so vulnerable was the supposition that manners, good or bad, had anything to do with the will as such.
‘I loved commanding the Company,’ Gwatkin said. ‘Don’t you enjoy your Platoon, Nick?’
‘I might have once. I don’t know. It’s too late now. That’s certain. Thirty men are merely a responsibility without the least compensatory feeling of power. They only need everlasting looking after.’
‘Do you really feel that?’ he said, astonished. ‘When the war broke out, I was thrilled at the thought I might lead men into action. I suppose I may yet. This could be only a temporary set-back.’
He laughed unhappily. By this time we were approaching the dingle, a glade enclosed by a kind of shrubbery. A large stone seat was on one side of it, ornamental urns set on plinths at either end. All at once there was a sound of singing.
‘Arm in arm together,
Just like we used to be,
Stepping out along with you
Meant all the world to me …’
It was a man’s voice, a familiar one. The song, recalling old fashioned music-hall tunes of fifty years before, was, in fact, contemporary to that moment, popular among the men, perhaps, on account of such nostalgic tones and rhythm. The singing stopped abruptly. A woman began giggling and squeaking. Gwatkin and I paused.
‘One of our fellows?’ he said.
‘It sounds to me like Corporal Gwylt.’
‘I believe you’re right.’
‘Let’s have a look.’
We skirted the dingle by way of a narrow path among the bushes, stepping quietly through the undergrowth that surrounded the glade. On the stone seat a soldier and a girl were sprawled in a long embrace. The soldier’s arm bore two white stripes. The back of the huge head was unmistakably that of Corporal Gwylt. We watched for a moment. Suddenly Gwatkin gave a start. He drew in his breath.
‘Christ,’ he said very quietly.
He began to pick his way with great care through the shrubs and laurels. I followed him. I was not at first aware why he was moving so soon, nor that something had upset him. I thought his exclamation due to the scratch of a thorn, or remembrance of some additional item to be supervised before handing over the Company. When we were beyond the immediate outskirts of the dingle, he began walking quickly. He did not speak until we were on the path leading back to the house.
‘You saw who the girl was?’
‘No.’
‘Maureen.’
‘God, was she?’
There was absolutely no comment to make. This was even more unanswerable than the news that Gwatkin had been superseded in his command. If you are in love with a woman – and Gwatkin was undoubtedly in love – you can recognise her a mile off. The fact that I myself had failed to identify Maureen in the evening light did not make Gwatkin’s certainty in the least suspect. The statement could be accepted as correct.
‘Corporal Gwylt,’ he said. ‘Could you believe it?’
‘It was Gwylt all right.’
‘What do you think of it?’
‘There’s nothing to say.’
‘Rolling about with him.’
‘They were certainly in a clinch.’
‘Well, say something.’
‘Gwylt ought to pray more to Mithras.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You know – the Kipling poem – “keep us pure till the dawn”.’
‘My God,’ said Gwatkin, ‘you’re blo
ody right.’
He began to laugh. That was one of the moments when I felt I had not been wrong in thinking there was some style about him. We reached the house, parting without further discussion on either side, though Gwatkin had again laughed loudly from time to time. I made my way up the rickety stairs of the stable. The light was out in the bedroom, the blackout down from the window, through which moonlight shone on to the floor. This would usually have meant Kedward was asleep. However, as I came through the door, he sat up in bed.
‘You’re late, Nick.’
‘I went for a walk in the park with Rowland.’
‘Is he browned off?’
‘Just a shade.’
‘I couldn’t get to sleep,’ Kedward said. ‘Never happened to me before. I suppose I’m so bloody pleased to get command of the Company. I keep on having new ideas about running it. I was thinking, I’ll probably get Phillpots or Parry in your place, now that you’re going up to Div.’
‘Phillpots is a nice chap to work with.’
‘Parry is the better officer,’ said Kedward.
He turned over, in due course going to sleep, I suppose, in spite of these agitations induced by the prospect of power. For a time I thought about Gwatkin, Gwylt and Maureen, then went to sleep myself. The following day there were farewells to be said. I undertook these in the afternoon.
‘I hear you’re leaving the Battalion too, Sergeant-Major.’
‘That I am, sir.’
‘I expect you’re sorry to go.’
‘I am that, sir, and then I’m not. Nice to see home again, that will be, but there needs promotion for these younger lads that must be getting on.’
‘Who is going to take your place?’
‘It will be Sergeant Humphries, I do believe.’
‘I hope Humphries does the job as well as you have.’
‘Ah, well, sir, Humphries is a good NCO, and he should be all right, I do think.’
‘Thank you for all your help.’
‘Oh, it was a pleasure, sir …’
Before CSM Cadwallader could say more – not a man to take lightly opportunity to speak at length on the occasion of such a leave-taking, he was certainly going to say more, much more – Corporal Gwylt came running up. He saluted perfunctorily. Evidently I was not the object of his approach. He was tousled and out of breath.
‘Excuse me, sir, may I speak to the Sergeant-Major?’
‘Go ahead.’
Gwylt could hardly contain his indignation.
‘Somebody’s broke in and stole the Company’s butter, Sergeant-Major, and the lock’s all bust and the wire ripped out of the front of the meat-safe where it was put, and the Messing Corporal do think it be that bugger Sayce again that has taken the butter to flog it, so will you come and see right away, the Messing Corporal says, that we have your witness, Sergeant-Major, if there’s a Summary of Evidence like there was those blankets …’
CSM Cadwallader shortened his speech in preparation to a mere goodbye and grip of the hand. There was no alternative in the circumstances. He looked disappointed, but characteristically put duty before even the most enjoyably sententious of valedictions. He and Corporal Gwylt hurried off together. By this time the truck that was to take me to Divisional Headquarters had driven up. An NCO was parading the men who were to travel up in it for medical treatment. Gwatkin appeared. He had been busy all the morning, but had promised he would turn up to see me off. We talked for a minute or two about Company arrangements, revisions proposed by Kedward. Gwatkin had resumed his formality of manner.
‘Perhaps you’ll arrive at the ITC yourself, Nick,’ he said, ‘on the way to something better, of course, but it’s used as a place of transit. I trust I’ll be gone by then, but it would be good to meet.’
‘We may both turn up on the same staff,’ I said, without great seriousness.
‘No,’ he said gravely, ‘I’ll never get on the staff. I don’t mind that. All I want is to carry out regimental duties properly.’
He tapped his gaiter with the swagger stick he carried. Then his tone changed.
‘I had some rather bad news from home this morning,’ he said.
‘You’re not in luck.’
‘My father-in-law passed away. I think I told you he had been ill for some time.’
‘You did. I’m sorry. Did you get on very well with him?’
‘Pretty well,’ said Gwatkin, ‘but this will mean Blodwen’s mother will have to move in with us. I like her all right, but I’d rather that didn’t have to happen. Look, Nick, you won’t speak to anyone about last night.’
‘Of course not.’
‘It was bloody awful,’ he said.
‘Of course.’
‘But a lesson to me.’
‘One never takes lessons to heart. It’s just a thing people talk about – learning by experience and all that.’
‘Oh, but I do take lessons to heart,’ he said. ‘What do you think then?’
‘That one just gets these knocks from time to time.’
‘You believe that?’
‘Yes.’
‘You really believe that everyone has that sort of thing happen to them?’
‘In different ways.’
Gwatkin considered the matter for a moment.
‘I don’t know,’ he said, ‘I can’t help thinking it was just because I was such a bloody fool, what with Maureen and making a balls of the Company too. I thought at least I was being some good as a soldier, but I was bloody wrong.’
I thought of Pennistone and his quotations from Vigny.
‘A French writer who’d been a regular officer said the whole point of soldiering was its bloody boring side. The glamour, such as it was, was just a bit of exceptional luck if it came your way.’
‘Did he?’ said Gwatkin.
He spoke without a vestige of interest. I was impressed for the ten thousandth time by the fact that literature illuminates life only for those to whom books are a necessity. Books are unconvertible assets, to be passed on only to those who possess them already. Before I could decide whether it was worth making a final effort to ram home Vigny’s point, or whether further energy thus expended was as wasteful of Gwatkin’s time as my own, Kedward crossed the yard.
‘Rowland,’ he said, ‘come to the cookhouse at once, will you. It’s serious.’
‘What’s happened?’ said Gwatkin, not pleased by this interruption.
‘The Company butter’s been flogged. So far as I can see, storage arrangements have been quite irregular. I’d like you to be present while I check facts with the CQMS and the Messing Corporal. Another thing, the galantine that’s just arrived is bad. Its disposal must be authorized by an officer. I’ve got to straighten out this butter business before I do anything else. Nick, will you go along and sign for the galantine. Just a formality. It’s round at the back by the ablutions.’
‘Nick’s just off to Div HQ,’ said Gwatkin.
‘Oh, are you, Nick?’ said Kedward. ‘Well best of luck, but you will sign for the galantine first, won’t you?’
‘Of course.’
‘Goodbye, then.’
‘Goodbye, Idwal, and good luck.’
Kedward hastily shook my hand, then rushed off to the scene of the butter robbery, saying: ‘Don’t be long, Rowland.’
Gwatkin shook my hand too. He smiled in an odd sort of way, as if he dimly perceived it was no good battling against Fate, which, seen in right perspective, almost always provides a certain beauty of design, sometimes even an occasional good laugh.
‘I leave you to your galantine, Nick,’ he said. ‘Best of luck.’
I gave him a salute for the last time, feeling he deserved it. Gwatkin marched away, looking a trifle absurd with his little moustache, but somehow rising above that. I went off in the other direction, where the burial certificate of the galantine awaited signature. A blazing sun was beating down. For this, my final duty at Castlemallock, Corporal Gwylt, who was representing the Messing Corporal, elsew
here engaged in the butter investigation, had arranged the galantine, an immense slab of it, in its wrappings on a kind of bier, looking like a corpse in a mortuary. Beside the galantine, he had placed a pen and the appropriate Army Form.
‘Oh, that galantine do smell something awful, sir,’ he said. ‘Sign the paper without smelling it, I should, sir.’
‘I’d better make sure.’
I inclined my head with caution, then quickly withdrew it. Corporal Gwylt was absolutely right. The smell was appalling, indescribable. Shades of the Potemkin, I thought, wondering if I were going to vomit. After several deep breaths, I set my name to the document, confirming animal corruption.
‘I’m leaving now, Corporal Gwylt. Going up to Division. I’ll say goodbye.’
‘You’re leaving the Company, sir?’
‘That I am.’
The Battalion’s form of speech was catching.
‘Then I’m sorry, sir. Good luck to you. I expect it will be nice up at Division.’
‘Hope so. Don’t get into too much mischief with the girls.’
‘Oh, those girls, sir, they never give you any peace, they don’t.’
‘You must give up girls and get a third stripe. Then you’ll be like the Sergeant-Major and not think of girls any longer.’
‘That I will, sir. It will be better, though I’ll not be the man the Sergeant-Major is, I haven’t the height. But don’t you believe the Sergeant-Major don’t like girls. That’s just his joke. I know they put something in the tea to make us not want them, but it don’t do boys like me no good, it seem, nor the Sergeant-Major either.’
We shook hands on it. Any attempt to undermine the age-old army legend of sedatives in the tea would be as idle as to lecture Gwatkin on Vigny. I returned to the truck, and climbed up beside the driver. We rumbled through the park with its sad decayed trees, its Byronic associations. In the town, Maureen was talking to a couple of corner-boys in the main street. She waved and blew a kiss as we drove past, more as a matter of routine, I thought, than on account of any flattering recognition of myself, because she seemed to be looking in the direction of the men at the back of the truck, who, on passing, had raised some sort of hoot at her. Now they began to sing:
The Valley of Bones Page 22
