by Alan Judd
Charles knew that none of the offending comments had come from him and he gave a truthful account of Beazely’s visit, but it sounded unconvincing even to his own ears. He was sure that Edward had not mentioned the tunnel to Beazely but could not account for how Beazely had known about it, nor for all the stuff about special selection. He did not feel it would be politic to call to his aid the fact that Beazely’s main interest had been in the screwing through the gate episode. Besides, he could not be certain that that might not appear in another edition. He was unable to offer the CO a more convincing explanation than that provided by the assumption of his guilt, and so was dismissed with further admonitions. ‘Frankly, I would have expected more from a university man,’ was the CO’s final, and rather surprising word.
Charles rang Beazely’s hotel several times that morning but was unable to get through to him. He left messages for Beazely to ring him, but nothing happened. Finally, late in the afternoon, he changed into civilian clothes and got the CO’s escort vehicle to take him to the hotel, having told the CO that he had an appointment with Beazely. When he got there he found Beazely in the bar, talking to a loud and drunken group of men who could have been either local journalists or local politicians. Beazely left them and came over to Charles. ‘Have a drink,’ he said.
‘No thanks.’
‘I suppose you’ve come about my little piece this morning?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Anything happen about it?’
‘I was very nearly sacked.’
‘Ah. I can explain, you know.’
‘Good.’
‘But please have a drink.’
They sat down. ‘Wasn’t my fault,’ said Beazely. ‘Wasn’t yours, of course. Wasn’t that other chap’s either, that Guards bloke. Though I didn’t go much on him, to be honest. Toffee-nosed, you know? Not like you.’
‘He was sacked. He’s on his way home.’
It was to Beazely’s credit that he seemed somewhat shaken by this. ‘Christ, they don’t waste much time in the Army, do they? Any good me going to see them or writing to the general or anything?’
‘The general will probably kill you.’
‘See what you mean.’ Beazely pushed his slipping spectacles back up on the bridge of his nose. ‘It was all the news editor’s fault really. Bit of a cock-up, to be honest, Charlie, from my point of view as well as yours. I mean, I’m not exactly persona grata with the Army now, am I? Not that I was before, I s’pose. I mean, they’ll still see me. They can’t not see me because of the rag I work for, can they?’
‘Just tell me where you got the information about the tunnel.’
‘The Officers’ Mess bar at Headquarters. They were all talking about it. I went up there after I’d seen you and the Guards bloke to talk to the PR desk. Fat lot of use they were. You see, I’d already sent this photograph of Edward along with a little write-up about what a good bloke he is because I’d thought of doing a big feature on your lot one day – with you in it – and I wanted them to keep all these little titbits as background. Well, in the meantime London had got this agency report about tunnels, and they’d come up asking me if I knew anything about it, which I didn’t until I went to the bar at Headquarters. Lot of loose talk there, Charlie. Always has been. A serious temptation to people like myself.’
‘To which you yielded.’
‘Yes and no. I reported what I’d heard, but I didn’t realise London were going for it in such a big way. I especially didn’t realise they’d link what I’d done about Edward with all the tunnel stuff. I mean, they were quite separate as far as I was concerned. That’s news editors for you. No souls, no tact, no sense, no scruples. Didn’t tell me what they were doing. First I knew of it was when I saw it this morning, just like you. Is your CO very angry?’
‘Demented.’
‘Oh Christ. I do all my work through the Army, as you know. If they make things difficult I’ll be joining that Guards bloke. Might not be such a bad thing, in a way.’ He mused for a few moments. ‘Would a bottle of whisky help?’
‘No, thanks.’
‘Not for you, for your CO. I could send him one.’
‘No.’ It occurred to Charles that this might be the opportunity to get rid of Beazely once and for all. ‘The CO has no tact and no scruples, just like your news editor. He’d probably kill you even quicker than the general. Best thing to do is lie low and wait for me to contact you.’ Beazely’s bloated face nodded mournfully. ‘The only way you might be able to clear your name is if you’re prepared to tell him what you’ve just told me – if he wants you to, that is.’
‘Any time, Charlie. Just say.’
‘I’ll be in touch if he does. Remember – don’t come near us until you hear from me that it’s all right.’
When Charles told the CO what Beazely had said, the CO grunted and remarked: ‘Just shows you can’t trust these bloody pressmen. Always listening to other people’s conversations. Watch your step in future.’ Charles waited to hear that the Guards officer had been recalled, and his own name cleared. But he waited in vain. A few days later he asked the CO if the general was now aware of the source of the story, and added that Beazely was willing to testify to it. ‘The matter’s closed,’ said the CO. ‘No point in digging it up. You’ve learnt your lesson, I hope. Now shut up.’
7
Somewhat to his surprise, Charles found that he was writing two or three times a week to Janet. They were long outpourings, produced at speed and of a length and passion that he knew was not justified by the relationship. They were a self-indulgent rehearsal of all the things that preoccupied him, predominant among which was the question of how long he thought he could last in the Army. Sometimes he felt he could not last another day, at others that he could go on for ever. This latter mood was not the result of sudden enthusiasm so much as a growing inability to imagine himself doing anything else. Most of the people around him appeared to like what they were doing, and this imposed upon him a burden of silence, the only relief for which was letters to Janet. What made it worse was that he did not on the whole dislike the people he was with but did not know them well enough to discover whether the accumulation of sordid particulars and the inflexible but necessary attitudes of military life were as horrifying for them as for him. There were signs that the adjutant, in his weary cynicism, did not fully enjoy what he was doing; but never a word to say so. There were occasions when Anthony Hamilton-Smith showed a certain pained sensitivity. After spending nearly a whole day closeted with the quartermaster in an attempt to straighten out some arcane aspect of HQ company’s ration issue – an affair which had also engrossed the CO, the adjutant, the RSM and the paymaster – Anthony had yawned behind the back of the disgruntled quartermaster and remarked in an undertone to Charles, ‘That man, with all he stands for, shows us the essential horror of Army life. I sometimes wonder why I love it so dearly.’
All this, he realised, was a little unfair on Janet. Long though they were, his letters were not very explicit, and from her replies it was clear that either she saw what he was doing as something comparable with the battles of the Somme or she failed, not unreasonably, to see what he was complaining about. Since their meeting he felt more distant from her, and at the same time a desire to communicate with her more. Her letters were brisk, cheerful and hurried. She seemed to be enjoying herself in London. He telephoned her a few times, when the adjutant was out of the room, but found that that device did more to emphasise distance than to decrease it. After a while he confined his letters to accounts of the books he was reading and to descriptions of Belfast, making much of the dirt, and especially much of the fact that a jug of milk left by an open window would be speckled black in an hour.
His books were his real solace and fully justified his overweight kit. The more vividly colourful and imaginative they were and the more remote from his drab environment, the better. As a student he had always resisted Tolkien, as he had resisted most cults, but he felt free to read and
enjoy him now. Even better was Mervyn Peake’s grotesque and sinister fantasy. He started reading those Shakespeare plays he did not know but then found that he was largely ignorant of those few he thought he did know, and so went to those instead. His one disappointment was Madame Bovary; perhaps because style, like poetry, was what was lost in translation or perhaps because he read it only on duty in the deadest part of the night. So far as he could see, none of his brother officers read anything except newspapers.
Belfast was relatively peaceful during those few weeks. This was a time when a few shootings and a bomb or two comprised what the newspapers called ‘a quiet night in Belfast’. To the CO it was ‘this unbelievable lull’; he could not conceal his disappointment that nothing much was happening in the battalion area and frequently speculated aloud as to what ‘they’ were up to under cover of the lull. The sum of the CO’s speculations was that whatever was going to happen was going to be worse than anything so far and woe betide those who were unprepared. Irritably, he toured the companies shouting ‘Hard targets!’ at all and sundry, and demanding to know of nervous officers what they would do if he were shot dead now, at this instant, talking to them in the false security of the company location.
Routine in battalion HQ was hardly enjoyable, but it was a framework upon which an existence could be based. The two essential elements were the eight-hour watchkeeping stints in the ops room, which occurred three times a week, and the daily O Groups at 1700 hours, known as ‘prayers’. The CO insisted upon these whether there was need or no, convinced that they benefited the morale of the battalion. All the company commanders attended and all the officers in battalion HQ, plus the RSM who took notes of everything that was said, regardless of relevance. Edward, too, was a prolific scribe and Charles was able to confirm what he had long suspected – that Edward’s company briefings contained practically none of his own words. Even certain mannerisms which Charles had thought were peculiar to Edward were now seen to originate from the CO.
Henry Sandy had also to attend, usually pale and tired after his nightly debauch. Even the paymaster was brought in from some mysterious and, everyone suspected, comfortable place known as ‘the rear echelon’, which he shared with the quartermaster. On one memorable occasion Henry Sandy had to be woken, publicly, by the RSM. What little charm the proceedings had was graciously given by Anthony Hamilton-Smith, who had frequent baths and seemed never to be depressed, tired or irritable like other people. He usually arrived at the meetings last, with the CO, and often had to slip out early for reasons which were never explained. He sometimes made a few light-hearted comments but rarely addressed himself seriously to the business of the day, so that his presence was a welcome balance to the CO’s intense seriousness and the RSM’s and Edward’s furious scribblings.
The CO invariably sat at the front facing everyone else across a large desk, with a wall-map of the battalion area behind him. He had a long stick which was meant for pointing out things on the map but which he smashed against the map or down upon the desk in order to emphasise firmness of resolve, swiftness of action, or the importance of soldier-like behaviour. He usually began by expressing amazement that the lull had continued for another twenty-four hours, and then issued dire warnings for the next twenty-four. Mysterious A1 sources were said to have indicated that the time would be soon.
Nigel Beale would then have to stand and, with the aid of a much shorter stick, give the daily Intelligence summary. This comprised a description of what had happened in the past twenty-four hours, which everyone knew, and speculation as to what was in store for the next twenty-four, which no one believed. It frequently happened that Nigel had nothing to report and no reason to expect anything, but he was still expected to speak for ten minutes. Sometimes he announced that there would be searches, again on the basis of A1 information, but usually nothing was found. Had Nigel been less zealous and intense he might have had a more sympathetic audience; as it was, his awareness that he was preaching to the godless heathen made him more intense still. His one believer was the CO, and the CO would brook no criticism of Nigel’s daily chore, no matter how kindly meant. Occasionally, though, the predictable pattern of the O Groups was shaken when the CO would suddenly formulate a new rule about dress or procedure and then castigate everyone present for not having adhered to it.
With regard to the watchkeeping periods, Charles found it strangely relaxing to know that whatever happened he would be keeping his watch at certain hours, riot or revolution notwithstanding. When it was quiet there was time for reading and letter-writing, and during the long watches of the night he would sometimes have conversations with the radio operator, which would later seem bizarre and implausible. Times such as these, when both fell silent, were the nearest that anyone ever got to privacy. It was the watchkeeper’s job to respond to anything that came up on either of the radio nets – the battalion and the brigade. Every message in or out had to be logged, and it was Charles’s fear that he would have to deal simultaneously with one of Brigade’s abstruse queries and some emergency, real or imagined, within the battalion area. His voice procedure had never been good, though it was usually adequate. Brigade were particularly hot on offenders, although the greatest offender was the Brigade commander himself. His voice procedure was a disconcerting mixture of ordinary conversation and incomprehensible telegraphese, which he would suddenly adopt for a few sentences when he remembered that he was on the air. He was the only man who ever came up without giving a call-sign, but this itself, combined with his drawling tones and extraordinary phraseology, made call-signs redundant. He was immediately recognisable to every listener. It was more of a problem to know when he had finished: he would sometimes say ‘Out’ crisply, sometimes not at all and at others would cut back in on other conversations.
Charles’s time of greatest privacy and pleasure was after the 2200–0600 watch, which occurred once a week. After his relief had arrived he would go upstairs on to the flat roof of the police station. There was a sentry up there in a sangar but he could wander about freely without going near him. He did not worry about snipers since the IRA were not at their most active early in the morning. There was a view over a large part of West Belfast leading up to the Black Mountain, the only visible bit of greenery. The cold was enlivening and bracing and the air clear. Above all, though, the city looked clean and almost innocent in its freshness. Later, the industrial haze would settle and turn the sun, if it appeared, into something the colour of rancid butter and the rain into a dull, dirty smear on the windows. But at six in the morning the homely little rooftops and the quiet little streets looked pathetically human. It was possible then to feel some hope for the place. Then the traffic would begin and the people would appear, bringing with them the noise, dirt, slovenliness and ordinary harshness of everyday life. Children with hard, old faces would start their paper rounds, and Charles would go back down to breakfast.
Every night the CO visited the companies. His trip round usually started at about ten, but could be earlier if he were bored. It would last from two to six hours. Charles usually accompanied him in case, as the CO put it, he had to arrest any rascally journalists on the way. For Charles it was a good opportunity to get out of battalion HQ. Unfortunately, the RSM was of the same opinion, and he also regarded himself as being in charge of the CO’s escort party. Frequently there was a silent and private feud between him and Charles to see who should sit in the front of the escort vehicle, the RSM regarding it as being beneath his dignity to give place to a mere second lieutenant, while Charles was happy to give up the seat but not to have it taken from him.
It was well known that the CO was looking for trouble when he went out at night, and he would even poach on a neighbouring battalion’s area if there was no life in his own. In the worst parts of his own area he would often leave the vehicles under guard and mount an extempore foot patrol under his own command, normally the job of a corporal. He would stop and search people who struck him as suspicious – nearly ever
yone did so strike him – and would mount sudden road blocks in the hope of catching stolen cars. Since most cars used in shootings and bombings were stolen, the search for such vehicles formed an important part of military life in Belfast, and everyone soon acquired something of the mentality of a traffic warden. There was an intense programme of VCPs and thousands of vehicles were stopped every week, occasionally with some result. Brigade were always worried about Ford Cortinas, which were said to be easy to steal and, certainly, were frequently used by terrorists. A representative for Ford, interviewed on the radio, denied that they were easier to steal than other comparable cars and suggested that their popularity was due to their reliability and speed. On some nights the CO would stop every Ford Cortina he saw. For about a fortnight Brigade issued numerous reports about blue Cortinas and the adjutant said that one of the RUC men had told him that if all the reports were true, every blue Cortina in Belfast had been stolen twice.
Anthony Hamilton-Smith sometimes did the rounds of the companies instead of the CO, with noticeably less drama. No one in battalion HQ knew how he passed his time, and no one thought it appropriate to ask. He was always fresh and immaculate, polite and charming whatever was happening. His persistent anachronisms earned him some good-natured ridicule, yet tinged with admiration. It was an army which admired bluff, which recognised its importance and which could forgive most sins provided they were done with a certain style. There were, of course, those – one or two of the more ambitious company commanders – whose sense of military virtue was outraged by Anthony’s continuing lament over the demise of the horse in modern warfare. They regarded him as an ineffectual dilettante, but his own unfailing politeness and good humour prevented them from demonstrating their disapproval. There was, indeed, something in his playfully old-fashioned manner that indicated a mind at rest, but not asleep. The CO seemed only intermittently aware that he had a second-in-command and showed no curiosity as to what his second-in-command did with his time. His style of leadership rendered subordinate commanders unnecessary, and an amiable, unprotesting 2IC fitted perfectly. Anthony’s responsibility for community relations remained almost entirely theoretical. It would have been completely theoretical had he not had to chair a weekly meeting of the RUC community relations representative and the company representatives. Charles was made responsible for the minutes. The purpose of the meeting was to discuss and, where necessary, allocate funds for community relations projects. Such few projects as there were had been inherited from the previous unit, though B company’s representative, a rather keen captain, wanted to build an adventure playground on some wasteland. The CO, though, was known not to favour community relations, and Anthony was not one to exert himself unnecessarily. The result was that the previous unit’s projects dwindled and the adventure playground, though paid lip-service to by all, was talked about in such a way that everyone, except the keen captain, was able to feel reassured that it would still be under discussion when the battalion left Belfast. At best, community relations secured the friendship of the friendly, while the unfriendly remained unchanged. Anthony introduced each meeting, was not always able to stay to the end, but occasionally handed round some cigars.
