Darcy went darting off. The General alighted stiffly, looked up at Bullco with an apologetic smile, saying, ‘Sorry, Superintendent . . . but to have done the full ride would have had me eating off the mantelpiece for a week.’ Then he signed to one of the Australian soldiers, who had, with others, alighted as soon as the General had, as if it were improper to be mounted in the presence of a dismounted superior officer, calling ‘Major.’ The Major came scuttling, halted smartly: ‘Sir?’
‘Ah . . . er . . . have a car sent to pick me up at Major Delacy’s place.’
‘Yessir, when, Sir?’
The General looked at Jeremy, who said, ‘Come as my guest, General. If you want to stay longer than today, there’s a radio you can send a message . . . sorry, signal . . . by.’ Jeremy grinned, somewhat impudently, it seemed.
‘Well, that’s too kind of you,’ said the General. ‘Would it be too much to have my aides along too . . . just two of them . . . you can put ’em up anywhere . . . do ’em good to rough it . . . I’m only thinkin’ of their poor arses, which are probably in worse condition than my own, not bein’ cavalrymen trained . . . eh, what, Malters?’
The man the General had addressed, also on the ground now, was the thick-set fellow with the crimson face and fierce ginger moustaches. He replied simply by snapping, ‘Sah!’ evidently in affirmation.
‘Certainly,’ said Jeremy.
The General motioned Malters to him, saying to Jeremy, ‘May I present Major Maltravers, Major?’
With another Sah! Maltravers shot out a red hand.
Then General Esk motioned to the lanky boy, introducing him: ‘Lieutenant Dickey. You might recall the name of Dickey . . . Colonel at that time, on the Euphrates . . . Denzil’s pater . . . old campaign comrade of mine . . . retired list now.’
Jeremy said, ‘I’m afraid I’ve put all military names and things out of my mind.’ His tone was rather dry. ‘Didn’t they tell you that?’
‘Ah-hum!’ commented the General.
There was the utility. As they went up to it and Darcy alighted, Jeremy introduced him as his nephew. Darcy chuckled and shook. ‘My brother’s son . . . killed on Gallipoli,’ said Jeremy. And as the General made a sympathetic sound, Jeremy introduced Prindy, as his grandson, adding: ‘You’ll find we’re a bit mixed in the matter of race round here . . . and rather proud of it . . . it gives us a sense of belonging, you know.’ He said it loudly so that the staring group with their horses might hear.
‘I’m sure it does,’ said the General, as loudly.
As they were getting in, and Jeremy said that one of the aides would have to get in the back, since there was room for only three in front, Sir Mark Esk said, ‘No . . . both of ’em . . . I want young Master Prindy next to me.’
‘But what about those poor arses of theirs? No upholstery back there.’
The General chuckled, ‘They can stand.’ He gave a short wave to the watchers and got in. Jeremy ignored them. As they drove off Esk said, looking at Prindy between him and Jeremy, ‘You’re very much alike. I believe if I’d met either of you without introduction I’d’ve guessed a close relationship . . . father, even.’
Jeremy, with a glance at Esk, said, ‘Curiously, your face seems familiar to me . . . but I’m sure it isn’t a memory from Asia Minor . . . and I haven’t seen a picture of you . . . although I’ve read a fair amount about your appointment . . .
Esk chuckled, ‘The British Garrison, what?’
‘You know about that, eh?’ There had been a terrific attack on General Sir Mark Esk’s recent appointment as Commander-in-Chief of the Australian Army in Australia Free, which had declared it a blatant return to Colonial Garrison days, since the man was an officer primarily of the British Army, with no associations with Australia whatsoever.
Esk said, ‘There’s been a lot of fuss. It’s understandable. But conditions of defence are so bad here . . . the struggle for power between your own generals . . . no idea of the terrific realities, only personal ambitions — that’s the reason. Your Prime Minister’s idea, not Britains’s. And . . . well, the primary title’s Inspector-General, which means seeing to defence . . .’
‘You’re still Commander-in-Chief, though.’
‘I detect resentment in you too, old man?’
‘Why not? I’m Australian. Why not our own man?’
Esk shrugged: ‘The condition of your military system has to be seen to be believed. You haven’t a man, Delacy. You’ve only got a gang of . . . of . . . but perhaps I’ll offend you.’
‘Not a bit of it. I’m intensely Australian . . . but I do remember the types I served with.’
‘Perhaps it’d form a subject for discussion. I want to discuss it with someone intelligent and patriotic, someone with your strong views about the condition of things Australian.’
‘Where’d you get this about my strong views?’
Esk smiled. ‘As a matter of fact, I know you fairly well . . . no, not from the Euphrates, or talk at Beatrice River. You had the clue when you said my face seemed familiar. You know my daughter rather well. She’s rather like me, they say.’
‘Your daughter?’
‘Lydia . . . Lydia Lindbrooke-Esk.’
‘Oh!’
The General chuckled at Jeremy’s obvious discomfort, and said, ‘Must tell you about old Lyd, too. Would you know that she didn’t marry the old man after all . . . thanks to you, she says . . . but the son? So the Vaiseys get their breeding and Lyd the millions.’
Jeremy drew a deep breath, staring at the road. They were coming to the top gate. Prindy said he’d get out and open it, and slipped over the General’s bony knees, and stayed on that side thereafter.
They made a tour of the horse-paddocks before going on to the homestead. Esk was interested in horses not only as an old cavalaryman, but raced at home, and said he would like to have an animal of good quality so as to pursue the sport as a diversion to his rather onerous military duties here. This was the part of Australia that was going to demand most of his attention, he said, confessing that the lack of preparation or even concern for the inevitable East-Asian War appalled him. He also said that he would like to hire horses for more or less private reconnaissances. Laughing, he said, ‘I must keep people like your friend the Superintendent off my back. I must confess that I was awfully glad to get rid of him. It’s been happening like that ever since I came into the country, whether it’s been by land, or sea, or even air, I’ve wanted to travel . . . there is the inevitable police escort . . . with Superintendent Bullco leading it. The trouble is, of course, that the military chaps up here have nothing but their parade grounds and messes and a couple of obsolete old shore batteries that would have to invite the enemy in to take a pot at him. Hence having to call on the civil authorities. I’d as soon do without your military chappies, too. If you don’t mind my saying it . . . and I presume you don’t, from what I’ve heard of your own attitude to the RSL and such odd things, I find your military men impossible . . .’
‘As gentlemen?’ Jeremy cut in sharply.
The General chuckled, ‘That old one!’ and slapped Jeremy’s knee. ‘No, dear boy . . . I’m of the old brigade, I admit, but not of the brigade mess. No . . . your fellows aren’t so much soldiers as policemen.’
‘Aren’t all soldiers in peace-time really policemen?’
‘Not reahlly . . . keepers of the peace in the broad sense, let us say . . . which, unfortunately, happens to be preparation for war . . .’
‘So that there’s more war!’
‘I can see that we have a lot of food for discussion, Major.’
‘Please don’t call me Major. I don’t like it.’
‘Good. I don’t like being called General . . . except when necessary.’
‘I’m not going to call you Sir Mark!’
‘Perish the thought, dear boy! Plain Mark will do . . . or Esk . . . whatever suits you. I feel we’ll get along, despite our differences. One thing we have in common . . . besides horses and Lydia
. . . ha, ha, ha! I know the story from her, old man . . . “He treated me like a father, damn him!” she said.’
‘What’s this other thing?’
‘Australia.’
‘How can you an Englishman be interested in Australia . . . unless you’ve got investments in it?’
‘I have.’
‘Oh . . . the Vaisey millions now, of course . . .’
‘Not a bit of it. The British Commonwealth which happens to be the be-all end-all of my existence, depends on the true patriotism of Australians . . .’
‘To go and fight for Britain, you mean . . .’
‘No, old man . . . to fight for Australia. You are the bastion of the Empire in the East. If you fail . . . the old Union Jack comes down, and either the Rising Sun, the Stars and Stripes, or the Hammer and Sickle, goes up in its place.’
Jeremy asked dryly, ‘What’s the difference . . . to Australia?’
‘Let that be the burden of a long discussion after I’ve had a bath, do you mind?’ They were approaching the homestead. ‘By George . . . what a fine place you’ve got!’
Jeremy set the visitors down at the annexe and gave them drinks, while he telephoned Nanango to prepare her. When eventually they went across, there she was, brightly but simply clad, the perfect smiling hostess in manner, while yet being what she was, as subtly confessed to with a red double-hybiscus in her dark glossy hair, a Chinese cane bangle on a wrist, silken Chinese slippers on her feet. The guests themselves were very formal in receiving their greetings, Major Maltravers even addressing her as Memsahib. She saw them each to a guest room, with a change of clothes and the facilities for bathing. Jeremy produced the famous ointment for novice riders. The General himself had no such need of it as he had pretended. The even extreme need of his aides he described as the first casualties to be suffered by Our Side in the Great East-Asian War. But even while, over drinks in the lounge before lunch, Esk jested so, he showed how seriously he thought of this war, already well and truly under way, as he averred, by reference to the sinking of the US Gunboat Panay in Chinese waters by Japanese, without anything but a mild protest from the USA and such indifference by Australians that he had found that even most of the military and naval men in Port Palmeston had forgotten it; although it happened only five months ago and so close to them; and few others he had spoken to about it had even heard of it. ‘Strange people, you Australians,’ he commented. ‘Abroad you seem to be even offensively Australian . . . yet at home . . .’
‘Just offensive!’ was Jeremy’s dry comment.
Sir Mark protested mildly: ‘Old chap!’
Another dry comment of Jeremy’s was: ‘I notice you speak of Australia as part of the British Empire in the East . . . not of the so-called British Commonwealth of Nations.’
‘Ah . . . I would have thought that one so jealous of his nationality would know the truth of that!’
‘What truth?’
‘That in point of fact Australia is not a member of the British Commonwealth, but is still bound to the mother country to the extent of the autonomy allowed by the Balfour Memorandum . . . literally still governed from Westminster to the extent of what I think is called, somewhat vaguely, Function . . .’
‘But the Statute of Westminster of . . . when was it . . . ’31?’
‘Australia has never formally ratified the Statute of Westminster.’
Jeremy stared at him with a strange expression, a mingling of astonisment and hatred, it seemed. His comparatively fleshy face had turned quite pale. Esk’s thin face rumpled suddenly with anxiety. ‘I say, old chap . . . hope I haven’t offended you.’
But there was Nan come to announce lunch. She spotted Jerry’s expression, eyed him keenly, asked, ‘You don’t want lunch, eh?’ She turned to Esk, who had risen, while Jeremy had not, and smiling, said, ‘My husband mostly not eat lunch.’
Jeremy rose, saying stiffly, ‘It’s all right . . . I’ll come in . . . have some soup.’
‘Thank you, old man,’ murmured the General.
‘Where dat other lot?’ asked Nan. She went to a Chinese gong, rang it.
She meant Prindy and Denzil Dickey. Malters was there at the bookcase, with fierce moustache buried in a book on Australian exploration. The other two came running down the stairs, both looking excited. The young Lieutenant addressed himself to his General in appropriate style and stance: ‘Sah!’
Esk asked, ‘What is it, Denzil?’
‘How long are we staying, Sir?’
‘Good heavens, man . . . do you think you’re in a billet?’ The General was stiff and sharp-voiced. ‘Apologise to your host!’
It could not be seen from the boy’s sunburn whether he flamed with shame or not; but his blue gaze went scattering. Jeremy, going up to Nan to take her arm, asked, ‘What’s wrong?’
Denzil muttered, ‘My humble apologies, Sir . . . but . . . but . . . you see, Sir, I’m musical and . . . and . . .’
Jeremy looked at the dancing grey eyes of Prindy. ‘You’ve found a kindred spirit, eh? I thought I heard the muted flute upstairs.’
‘Yes Sir, yes Sir,’ babbled Denzil, all eagerness now. ‘I would like to teach Prendegast musical theory . . . his music should be written . . . if only we have time.’
Jeremy shrugged. ‘It’s up to your General how long you stay, son.’
Esk said again to Jerry, ‘Thank you, old man.’ Then at Denzil he snapped, ‘It’s up to your behaviour.’
‘Sah!’
Lunch went easily, with Nan smiling over it, Denzil frothing about Indian music he had heard in India, Chinese music, Arabian music, while Prindy, or Prendegast, suddenly come to life again, asked eager questions, Jeremy and the General talked horses, and Malters worked with masticatory precision on his cold buffalo tongue and salad and granadilla and cream and said nothing.
Coming out of the dining-room back to the lounge, with Nan gone to the kitchen, Esk took Jeremy’s arm, murmuring, ‘I’d like to put that matter right about the Statute of Westminster, old man. I’m afraid I gave the impression of having the old Damned Colonial attitude. I do assure you I haven’t. Indeed, I’ve fought against it. I’m a Freedom for India man, if you want to know . . . which you can guess doesn’t make one popular amongst the Blimps. I see the Imperial rôle as a guiding, not a dominating thing, and actually don’t like this non-ratification thing I spoke of, because it puts Australia out of step with the rest of the Commonwealth . . . Am I annoying you, old man?’ Jeremy’s arm was rigid and his face blank.
He said, somewhat stiffly again, ‘Not with your talk, General. My arm . . . if you don’t mind. I isn’t Australian practice for men to go arm in arm.’
The General withdrew hastily. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry! Sissy business, I know. But, actually, we have a lot of old-world habits, we English . . . mean something different now.’
They stopped at the outside door, faced each other. Esk said, ‘I’d very much like to talk this matter over with you, because I haven’t had a chance to do so with any other person.’
‘What matter’s that?’
‘The non-ratification of the Treaty of Westminster by Australia.’
‘I’ll have to tell you, General, that I don’t give a damn about the British Commonwealth of Nations. I’m a citizen of the Commonwealth of Australia . . . and actually I feel deeply resentful that the people who run the country were so supine as to let you Imperialists pinch what was ours . . . our title . . . and bugger up, deliberately, I believe, our hopes of making a true Commonwealth out of it . . . now that it’s called, as it is “a commonwealth within a commonwealth” . . . a meaningless thing now.’ Jeremy was flushed and angry-eyed. ‘When we spoke of The Commonwealth before, we meant our Nation . . . just as the Americans know what they mean when they say The United States. Now, thanks to the trickery of Westminster and the littleness of Canberra, we have to ask ourselves which Commonwealth.’
The General nodded. ‘I see your point. Hadn’t thought of it.’ But I think you should hear
what I have to say about this Statute thing, because it means that you are not really a citizen of Australia, but a British Subject, inferior in status to Canadians, South Africans . . . even the Irish before they declared their Republic. It happens that I know a lot about it, because it was by reason of it that I received my dubious appointment . . . by Whitehall, not Canberra. I am not a mere liaison officer lent to help out with your military affairs, Jeremy, if I may make bold to call you that. Under the old Balfour Declaration system of limited autonomy, your Prime Minister asked Westminster for a C-in-C, to command that part of the British Army which is called the Australian Commonwealth Military Force . . . just the same as what is called by you the Royal Australian Navy, but by the Royal Navy quite legitimately the Australian Squadron, is commanded by a British Rear-Admiral . . . and the fault is not ours, my dear chap . . . but yours. I know this thing, because I’ve been made a bunny by reason of it. I’m puzzled by it. I’d like to know what it means. Shall we talk later . . . or would you prefer to avoid it as everybody else so strangely seems to want to . . . and we’ll stick to what, after all, is a nobler animal than man generally?’
Jeremy swallowed, said huskily, ‘Yes . . . we’ll talk about it. I’d prefer it tonight. I’d like to look up a couple of things first. Do you mind?’
‘Gladly, old man.’
‘Right . . . I’ll see you for drinks round about five.’
Superintendent Bullco didn’t turn up for that declared inspection. Nor, so Jeremy said when the man was spoken of during the pre-dinner drinking, had he really been expected. Mention of him caused General Esk to recall how the fellow had raged when the birds on the billabongs had been disturbed by the explosions at the mine. Esk said, ‘He declared that he was going to get you this time, that someone had to get you, because you were a menace to the country with your opposition to what he called Authority and Progress . . . odd choice of words. I became very curious about them then. I’d felt there was something wrong when the shootin’ expedition was mooted. As I’ve said, I’m not the huntin’ type. I felt I was being pushed into it. There was something undercover about it, don’t you know. Naturally they couldn’t be frank about it in the circumstances, your sons, your ex-wife, and all that . . . but I didn’t understand how things were really then . . . picked up a lot from Bullco on the way out. My idea was that I was being got out of the way by the military chaps for some reason. Colonel Chivvy, OC Palmeston Troops, stayed back at Beatrice Homestead. Something they don’t want me to see, I thought. It’s like that in my job. You might call me the Imperial Trouble-shooter. I have to go out and clean things up that’ve got to stinking a bit. Well, it all came as a sort of climax . . . those shots, like bloomin’ concealed artillery, Bullco’s raging . . . and then yourself, so calm, so casual, impudent if you like, but so much in command of the situation, a man of strength and integrity and even humour . . . when I’d been led to think of you as a dangerous madman. Even Lyd, with her great admiration for you, classified you as, well, a bit of a crank. Believe me or not, but as I looked at you, I thought: “Here is the one just man in Sodom” . . . if you’ll excuse the expression. You’ll see what I mean by that when we come to discuss this amazing thing, Australia’s non-ratification of the Statute of Westminster. Leave it at that, shall we? Cheers, dear boy! If I had your talent in beer-making I’d be a millionaire brewer, instead of a down-at-heel general dodging the Civil List.’
Poor Fellow My Country Page 113
