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.’
“H’m,” she said, putting down the little green-covered magazine. “I wonder what’s in the back of his mind to write like that? Your Mr. Purley-Prout has got something on his conscience, I should not be at all surprised! And dear me, after what you and Desmond have told me—just listen to what he has to say next!
“‘Don’t think that every other scout in every other troop is your sworn foe. Remember that you are a peace scout: and if the other fellow seems to forget this, you can remind him of it by your actions—don’t jaw! The other Troops are not enemies of ours—they are friendly rivals: and I want all my North Western chaps to treat them as such, and as gentlemen. You must particularly remember to show great respect to the Scoutmasters of other Troops—just as much as if they were your own officers.
“‘We want to see our North Western setting a noble ideal of unity and concord before every district in England. And why shouldn’t it?
With every good wish,
Believe me,
Your affectionate friend and Scoutmaster,
Rupert Purley-Prout.’
“H’m,” said Mrs. Neville, putting down the little magazine, “I don’t think there’s much affection about that gentleman. Why, when Desmond came home, he was starved, all skin and bone! There were dark rings under his eyes. And the grime on his body! If this Mr. Purley-Prout thought less of the soul, and more of the body—but perhaps he does, from all I hear,” she added, nodding significantly. What could she mean? But it was a grown-up’s remark, and Phillip thought no more of it.
*
After the Whitsun Camp he was not so keen on scouting as he had been. He did not know that this was due, in part, to fatigue. The boys had hardly slept during the four
nights. Instead, he played cricket on the Hill; and sometimes, when it was wet, he and Desmond went to the twopenny seats of the Electric Theatre in the High Street. After the holidays, on fine Wednesday and Saturday afternoons, they cycled out to explore Reynard’s Common and the surrounding country, finding perfect companionship in viewing external objects together.
Desmond had a machine with dropped handlebars which gave it a racy appearance. Its badge was a red hand on the front pillar, while Phillip’s was a swift in flight. Phillip knew every speck on both badges: his eyes seemed to illumine every aspect of the marques. There were hundreds of other interesting things to be seen on their rides together.
Some of them were funny, such as the two horses in the lowest of the Seven Fields, where the rifle range was. Near the post-and-rail fence at the bend of the road the two animals stood, necks crossed, nibbling energetically at one another’s hair. The boys watched for five minutes, wondering when the horses would stop; they left only when a Vanguard ’bus came along, steam blowing from its radiator, to race it up the hill.
The Vanguard, like the red General that sometimes came that way on Saturdays, could not do more than twelve miles an hour; the Swift could pass it, even if Desmond’s Rudge could not—just. But up the hill leading to Brumley they both won easily, as usually buses had to stop half-way up, after creeping at three m.p.h., their engines boiling furiously.
Chapter 17
EXIT MR. PURLEY-PROUT
ONE early evening when Phillip returned, he found Mother and Mrs. Lower Low in the front room. Mother closed the door quietly as he stood wiping his boots on the mat. Phillip wondered what was up, for usually when Mrs. Lower Low called with her work she and Mother went into the kitchen.
“Phillip,” said Hetty, when Mrs. Low had gone, “could you spare me a minute, dear, from your homework?”
Since Mum could see that he was reading the latest number of The Scout, Phillip thought this hint a little too obvious. What had he been found out about, now?
“You know I’m not doing it, so why pretend I am, Mother?”
“Oh, it was just a figure of speech. Politeness costs nothing, my son.” Then feeling she might have been too severe, Hetty kissed him on the top of his head. He wriggled away from the caress. How like Dickie he was sometimes, she thought, feeling rebuffed.
“Well, what is it? Come, speak out!”
Yes, it might have been Dickie speaking.
“Phillip,” said Hetty, taking a chop out of the safe in the larder, and putting it in a pan, “I would like to speak to you in the strictest confidence, dear. You are now fourteen, and soon will be growing up towards manhood. Are you listening, dear?”
Phillip seemed intently to be reading something in the paper; but he was thinking rapidly. Had anyone told her that he and Desmond sometimes went into the Randiswell Recreation Ground on Thursday nights, for the thrill of passing by the dark waiting figures of toms by the rustic bridge leading to Rushy Green—to hear the low-spoken, rather fearful invitation, Want a sweetheart, dear? He and Desmond had pretended to be on their way to Troop Headquarters, but they had walked about instead, not wanting to see the brassy-haired Mr. Purley-Prout.
“Well, Mum, go on! I’m listening! I can’t wait all night!”
“It’s something to do with Lenny Low, Phillip. But first, will you give me your word of honour not to say anything to anyone else about what I am going to say to you?” Hetty lit the gas under the frying pan.
Phillip looked up, with puzzled expression. “Is that why Mrs. Lower Low came just now?”
“Yes, dear. Do you know anything about it?”
“About what, Mum?”
“Are you sure you don’t know, Phillip?”
“About what?” he cried, in exasperation.
“Phillip, will you give me your word of honour to regard what I am going to say in the strictest confidence? It might cause very great trouble if you told anyone else, you see.”
“All right, I promise. Cough it up.”
“First, I must ask you if you knew anything about the money Mr. Prout gave to Lenny Low after the Whitsun camp?”
“Money? What money?”
By his face Hetty could see that he did not. She felt relief. How could she tell him about the very terrible thing Mrs. Low had confided in her? If Phillip’s Father knew, he might put his foot down, and cause all sorts of trouble. Ought she to confide in Mamma first? But Mamma was not well; Dr. Cave-Browne had said she had a clot of blood from the varicose veins on her legs travelling about, and she must on no account be worried. No, Phillip was old enough to be warned, at least, of the dangers that beset him along the road of life.
“What money, Mum. You do beat about the bush, so!”
“It was a very considerable sum for a little boy, Phillip, for that after all is what Lenny is still. Mrs. Low said it was a half sovereign.”
“Yes, Mr. Prout gave Lenny that, to do his good turn, in secret, to help Mrs. Low.”
“Then you do know about it then, dear? Who told you?”
“Lenny did. You told me yourself about the money she owed the money-lender, who charged her all that interest, ten per cent a month, or a hundred and twenty per cent per annum.”
“Is that all Lenny has told you, dear? I mean, was there anything else between him and Mr. Prout, that you know of?”
“No, Mum.”
Phillip looked puzzled, to Hetty’s relief.
“Well dear, perhaps that was the reason. Only Mrs. Low was very worried, you see.”
“Did she think Lenny had pinched the money?”
“Oh no, Phillip, nothing like that! Don’t you go saying anything like that, I beg of you.” Hetty hesitated. “Perhaps I should ask you one thing more, dear, though I am sure a son of mine would never do anything with anyone of which he would be ashamed, would he?”
Phillip wondered if his Mother was by chance referring to the remarks he had inked into British Birds. He pretended to a naïve innocence. “In what way d’you mean, Mum?” as he opened his Algebra book.
“In any way, dear,” replied Hetty. She was unable to express her thoughts in words, “beating about the bush”, as Dickie often said. At the very moment that she thought of him, a key jingled in the porch. It was like telepathy!
“Now dear, I must see about your Father’s dinner.”
Hetty turned up the gas. The chop in the frying pan began to hiss more noticeably.
“And I must get on with my beastly Algebra,” said Phillip, sliding the folded Scout into his satchel. “Algebra—Algebra—it sounds like teeth being pulled out.”
When Father had gone out for his cycle ride, Phillip slipped through Gran’pa’s house and up the gully and through the thorns to the grass below the sheep-fold, and down behind the Grammar School to the cemetery lane, to find Lenny Low.
A green Dursley-Pedersen bicycle stood against the kerb outside Lenny’s house. Seeing it, Phillip at once turned and walked round the corner. To his relief he saw Lenny coming along by the railings towards him, a library book under one arm.
“Don’t recognise me,” Phillip hissed as Lenny walked slowly past him. “Follow me to the turning to Joy Farm.”
He went on slowly as though he were out for an ordinary stroll.
Out of sight, in the farm turning, he waited for Lenny.
“Mr. Purley-Prout is at your house! I saw his bike outside!”
Lenny looked afraid.
“What’s up, Lenny? You can trust me. I know about the money he gave you. Tell me, on your Scout’s honour, did Old Prout give it you, or did you sneak it?”
“Mr. Purley-Prout gave me it, Phillip. Only it isn’t that so much.” Lenny looked ashamed.
“Come on, out with it! I won’t split.”
“It was when I was in his bivouac.”
“What was?”
When Lenny had explained, Phillip said.
“Fancy Mr. Purley-Prout doing that! I didn’t think men did that, only boys. Ching tried to do it
to me, once, under the bushes above the gully, but I told him off. It was then he spat in my eye. They say if you do it a lot, a long hair grows out of the middle of your hand. Do you believe it?”
“They say it gives you the palsy, too,” said Lenny, unhappily.
“My Father started to tell me about it once, when he said he’d seen something on the sheets of my bed. He couldn’t have done, because I can’t get anything yet.”
“Nor can I.”
“How did your mother find out about you and Old Prout, then?”
“She saw me in the bathroom, in the mirror on the wall, when she looked from her bedroom window.”
“Ah, you see, light reflects in equal angles! You want to be careful of mirrors, for if anyone can see you, you can see them, since the rays of light pass between you. Was your mother angry?
“No. Only when she asked me where I learned it from, I had to tell her. Then she asked me if Mr. Purley-Prout had promised me the money for that.”
“Money for that?” said Phillip, incredulously. “I don’t believe it! And half a sovereign, too! When did he give it to you?”
“On the station, just before we came home by train after the Whitsun camp. I told him before that, you see, about the money my Mum owed, when he asked me to tell ’im all about myself, after he’d taken me into his bivouac, that wet night at camp.”
“Well, I think it was rather decent of Old Prout to give you the tin, anyway. Your mother won’t be worried about owing money any more.”
“My Father found out from my Mum, and created a terrible scene.”
“How did he find out? I thought he didn’t speak to your Mother.”
“Nor he does, usually, but he told my Mum this time he knew all about what she had been doing. My Father told my Mum he used to call in and ask the moneylender if she had paid the interest, so he knew all about it, and it served her right.”
Young Phillip Maddison Page 25
