“Think of me with a bit of fluff dancing at the Grafton Galleries tonight, dear boys, after a dinner at the Trocadero and a revue. Seriously, I’m damned sorry I’m not coming with you.”
Before Morty left, Phillip asked him if he would send off a telegram for him at the station. “Oh course, my one and only Elastic Maggot! No offence, dear boy: you ought to know what a silly old ass I am, by now!”
Phillip wrote the telegram and gave Morty sixpence.
“My dear old top,” said Morty. “I won’t hear of it! I’ll send it off as soon as I get to Crowborough, count on that. Any more telegrams?” Putting them in his pocket-book, “So long, dear boys! We’ll all meet again in Berlin, and drink hock, and eat that sauerkraut! Come now, all together, the ‘Hymn in Praise of Camp Cooking’!”
Lance-corporal Mortimore led off with the words of his famous song.
We have fat ham for breakfast, turnip jam for tea!
Skilly for dinner, or cold Maconochie!
Oh, take away those dixies, and wash them well out!
For soon we’ll be eating sauerkraut
NO DOUBT!
Phillip shouted the last two words with the others. He joined in the cheering as handsome, gay Morty walked up the lines. They watched him so far as the top, where he blew them a kiss, and was gone.
Chapter 16
A LUNCHEON PARTY
“YOUR parents have come, and are looking for you,” said Douglas; and Phillip, trying to fit his greatcoat into the new khaki valise which had been issued that morning, promptly went to find them. He greeted them with a salute, having observed an officer greeting his wife like that. The next thing was to get leave to go with them to Crowborough, to the Beacon Hotel, for lunch.
“Just a moment, Mother, I’ll see if I can find the Colour-sergeant. Things are a bit mucked up this morning. I won’t be long.”
Unable to find Colours, he ventured up to the Officers’ lines. Captain Forbes’ tent was empty. What should he do? Seeing the grey head and moustaches of the Earl of Findhorn for a moment in the opening of his tent, he went with some trepidation towards that distinctly awesome presence. Outside the tent he stood to attention, and saluted. The lean face with an irritable expression looked at him with distaste.
“Who are you?”
“If you please, Sir, my Father and Mother have come to see me, and may I have permission to——” He stopped, as sharp little teeth appeared under the moustache, with a snarl of anger.
“What the devil——! Get out! Get out!”
Phillip turned and ran away, jumping over guide ropes and dodging round tents until he found himself in ‘F’ lines. Bending down, he hastened through ‘G’ and ‘H’; and walking briskly downhill, came to where his parents were waiting at the bottom of ‘B’ lines.
“Don’t look back! Follow me! It’s all a bit of a muck up today, anyway the Colonel said I could get out, so I take it he meant the camp. This way, please don’t look back, just follow me along the track. It’s about two miles to the hotel.”
The room adjoining the main dining-room of the Beacon Hotel was small, and crowded with tables. They entered, among officers and other ranks sitting quietly with their relations. Seated before his father and mother, and speaking scarcely above a whisper, he asked how things were at home.
“Oh, much the same, old chap,” said Richard. “Timmy Rat misses you, I think, but we are looking after him for you.”
“S-sh! Not so loud.”
After awhile Hetty said, “Zippy is very good with him, Phillip, he hardly ever gets on the copper. We see that he has plenty of water, too.”
“Oh good.”
He stared at the table. The meeting he had imagined so many, many times had been entirely different.
It was a slight relief when Baldwin appeared at the door, with his red-haired girl. Phillip had been introduced to her; but he did not greet them. He kept his eyes on the table. All the tables were filled. He did not think of asking them to share his table. In his father’s presence, mild as it had been for a year and more, he could never think. He sat there impotently uneasy. Baldwin and his girl went out again, silently as they had come in, as though also over-awed by the presence of officers there.
“Your sister Mavis is coming as a stop-gap, to work in the office after Christmas, you may be interested to hear, Phillip.”
“Oh, I see.”
“Yes, dear, she is learning to type now, at Clark’s College in Fordesmill.”
“Oh.” Then, “How is Timmy Rat? And Gran’pa?”
“Oh very well, dear, Gran’pa and Aunt Marian asked me to send their love.”
“Oh, thank you.”
“I think you may be interested to hear that Mr. Rolls has joined the Rifle Club, Phillip,” said Richard.
“Oh.” Phillip’s eyes were on his plate.
“When I saw Mrs. Rolls the other day, dear,” said Hetty, “she said that she is organising a Knitting Party connected with St. Simon’s Church, to knit socks for soldiers.”
His agony lest others overhear the name of Rolls was equalled by a momentary wild hope that Mrs. Rolls might have told Mother this as a hint that Helena was going to knit some socks for him; but the hope died when she said, “How are your socks, dear? Both Mrs. Bigge and Mrs. Neville have asked for your measurements, so I expect you will have plenty before long.”
To this he could not reply.
“By the way, before I forget, Phillip. It was most kind of you, old chap, to offer us all the use of your salary while you are away; but at the moment it might be the best thing to have it paid half-quarterly into a deposit account at the bank, until such time as you may need it. The first payment, as you know, is due at the end of the month, at Michaelmas.”
“Thanks,” said Phillip hastily, hoping that Father would not mention the amount. Some of the fellows in the battalion were quite rich, and he did not want them to know that he had been earning only fifty pounds a year. Hastily he sought another subject.
“Mother, I did tell you we saw the King, on our march down here, didn’t I, in my letter?”
“Yes dear. I wish I could have seen him. What did he look like?”
“Oh, just like the photographs, only sort of browner, his beard you know. His eyes had heavy creases underneath them. There were three other officers with him, all in blues.”
“How very interesting, dear.”
Sipping soup scarcely tasted, or realized, Phillip saw Douglas’ face at the door. When Douglas had gone, Mother said, “What a very nice man, dear! He was so helpful when he saw us looking for you. He brought us to your company lines, and apologised for not being able to take us into the Officers’ Mess, explaining that he was not an officer.”
“He’s just got a stripe. He was at the Bluecoat School.”
“I could see there was something fine about him. Oh well, I did my best to get you a presentation for Christ’s Hospital, when you were small.”
“Douglas comes from Fordesmill, you know.”
“Ah! I thought I had seen his face before, dear.”
“Have you fired your Lee-Enfield rifle yet, Phillip?”
“Not yet, Father,” he said, in a low voice. Why did Father speak so loudly?
“I suppose you will, before you go?”
“I don’t know, Father.” How could he stop Father?
“But surely, my boy, before you go overseas you will fire at least once on the range?”
Fried slices of plaice were hurriedly swallowed.
“Perhaps Phillip will, dear, there’s no knowing. Anyway, you may be going to Egypt, may you not?”
“They haven’t issued us with sun-helmets,” he whispered. Thank God the officers were going out. “We’ve got our new valises. There’s a rumour we are going to have the short rifles, the ones with the wooden stock extended up to the muzzle, but I really don’t know. All I know is that our names, numbers, regiment, and religions are now being stamped on identity discs.”
Hetty tried n
ot to think about it. Richard, too, was feeling worried. There had been an article in The Daily Trident about the need for the powers-that-be to think in terms of modern warfare, particularly the part that the machine gun was going to play in the battles to come when the main armies confronted one another. The Germans had a great many machine guns. While Phillip and his fellow territorials had not even learned to fire their rifles!
Hetty could see that Phillip was in agony about further questions. Richard took the hint, and chose what he thought was a subject of general interest.
“Well, tell us if you have seen anything of the Russians that came down from Scotland, old chap.”
“I don’t think it’s true. Also, it has been officially denied, as I wrote and told you.”
“Well, a lot of people appear to have seen them on their journey south, as they travelled down from Leith. Some porters were seen brushing snow out of the carriages afterwards—that at any rate was the tale, Phillip. If they did come from Archangel, and have crossed over to France, they may just turn the scale, you know. And it is hardly likely that any arrival of reinforcement troops would be mentioned in the papers, is it?”
Richard’s words did nothing to lessen his son’s taut fears of his father appearing dogmatic before the other fellows in the room. Phillip swallowed tasteless food; and after coffee, said he ought to be getting back to camp. Trying to make light of the gloomy situation, he said, “I hope the Colonel doesn’t recognise my beastly physogg!”
It was now Hetty’s turn to try and make light of what, after all, was only an aggravation of the usual awkwardness between father and son, a condition that almost her entire spiritual life at home had been devoted to removing.
“Perhaps he won’t remember it, dear, with so much on his mind at present.”
“You don’t know him as I do,” muttered Phillip. “He’s a martinet.”
“Anyway, he must be used to your ways by now, dear!” she said, with a smile; which remark produced in him a scowling sigh, as he stared at the tablecloth. The waiter was sweeping up the crumbs, preparatory to laying fresh knives and forks.
“Well,” said Richard, “we had better be moving.”
Outside in the sunny air of a calm September afternoon fresh fears assailed Phillip. “I say, please don’t be offended, but do you mind if I don’t see you off at Jarvis Brook Station? I think I ought to be getting back now—I haven’t a pass, and the military police may report me. Well, give my love to everyone, including Mrs. Neville and Desmond, Gran’pa, Aunt Marian, and everyone you can think of. Don’t let Tommy go anywhere near my bedroom, will you? Or he’ll pinch the rest of my birds’ eggs.”
“No, dear, of course not.” She opened her purse. “Now, dear, I have brought this for you.” She took out a small silver and ebony crucifix. “It was mine as a girl at the convent at Thildonck, and and if you wear it round your neck, I am sure it will keep you from harm, wherever you are. And you won’t forget your prayers, will you?”
He took it hurriedly, and put it in his breast pocket. “I’ll put it on the leather bootlace which Baldwin said is best for our identification disks. Well, I think I ought to go back now. Goodbye Father, goodbye Mother.”
He saluted, and was about to turn away when Hetty said, “Give me a kiss, dear.” He flinched at this; but removing his glengarry, kissed her lightly on her cheek. He shook his father’s hand.
“Well, do your best, old chap! Good luck!”
“Yes, Father. Goodbye.”
He saluted, and turned away and without looking back strode along the road leading to Ashdown Forest. Hetty turned, and waved her handkerchief to the striding figure. Richard took her arm, to comfort her.
Chapter 17
CIGAR FOR A SOLDIER
WHEN he arrived back in camp a company parade in fatigue dress was just assembling. Douglas, new stripes on his jacket, said that they were to be inoculated against enteric fever. This fact had given rise to the rumour that their destination was Egypt, or even South Africa. But it turned out to be an anti-typhoid injection, which pointed to France, where the water was notoriously bad to drink.
A dab of iodine on bared upper arm, then the needle, which Captain MacTaggart, with pursed lips, pushed hard into nipped flesh. Why did some chaps faint, he wondered. To his surprise Furrow, the powerful rowing man, was among them. Phillip kept upright; but an hour later he began to shudder violently, perhaps because he had gone to the washing benches, stripped, lathered all over, and emptied a pail of cold water over himself.
There was a big fire of wood flaring up in a space near the canteen marquee. He managed to lug four blankets there, and lying down to cover himself up, teeth clenched, head throbbing, shaking in every limb. After an hour under blankets the paroxysms passed. Feeling sick, with aching arm, he returned to lie down in the tent. Shivering, he pulled his blanket over his head, and slept beside his rifle.
Others were lying there, pale and quiet. By tea-time he felt better. He felt considerable cheered when Colours came to tell them that the Commanding Officer had succeeded in his request to the Commander-in-Chief, Home Forces, that each man be given twenty-four hours’ embarkation leave. Half companies were to start the next day after morning parade.
Leave was in two batches. Phillip was in the second. After Saturday morning parade he and others of the half company were given railway warrants. Off he and Baldwin hurried to catch the fast train from Jarvis Brook to London, free until Retreat on Sunday night.
*
With keen anticipation he showed his pass at Wakenham station to the porter. The porter looked at it, then waved him through with his clippers, as though unaware that he had returned. Outside the station the houses looked small, drab, forlorn. He saw for the first time that they had slate roofs. Banana skins lay in the gutter, with pieces of paper. He went into the newspaper shop, to buy some Cavalier tobacco; the wooden-legged man who gave him his penny-ha’penny change from sixpence did not seem to recognise him, but returned to study of the League prospects. Football, was there still football? He hurried away up Foxhill Road, anticipating the wonder of his arrival home—and Desmond.
At the top, opposite St. Simon’s Church, they were playing tennis in the club. His heart accelerated. Peering through the shrubs he saw Helena Rolls, all in white, playing a set.
He hesitated, feeling twisted inside; then not daring to reveal himself, he hurried onwards. Home, Mother’s face was now prominent in his mind.
The Hill was just the same, though somehow looking more bare. There was the slow form of Mr. Krebs walking towards him, arm in arm with his grey-haired wife. Would Mr. Krebs recognise him? He remembered he was a German. Mr. Krebs looked straight ahead, Mrs. Krebs smiled. Phillip saluted. Mr. Krebs seemed startled—ah, he had recognised him after all! He raised his hat, showing bald pink head as he bowed. Phillip strode on, feeling a little happier.
He passed the West Kent Grammar School, much enlarged since the L.C.C. had taken it over as the Wakenham Secondary School. The old grammar school was still there, its wasp-dug and flaking old red brick enclosed by new clean high walls. It did not seem alive, it had been suffocated by the L.C.C. He went down by the sheep-fold, glad to see the Crystal Palace glittering on the ridge some miles away; but it seemed to be much nearer.
Vaulting the hurdles, he crept down the steep clay bank above the gully, seeing the same old blackish-red hips on the trees, and same curled dry notched brown leaves fallen under them. Yes, summer was ending. Soon the rest of the leaves would fall, and old sparrow nests be shown in bare branches. He stopped, closed his eyes: why, why did life change so?
The front door of the Rolls’ house was open. He passed, looking straight ahead, hoping he would not see, and have to speak to Mr. Pye, should his sallow face be visible in the next house. He got to the safety of Gran’pa’s house, looked in at the window, saw no one. He shut away a piercing thought of Grannie, of Uncle Hugh, of the old faces, the old days——Ah, Mrs. Bigge peering round her gate! He was glad to
see her.
“They’re all waiting for you, Phillip. How well you look! We are all proud of you in Hillside Road. Go in, dear, don’t waste time with Aunty Bigge, as you used to call me. Mother is waiting to see you! What days we’re living in, to be sure!”
“Yes, Mrs. Bigge. I hope you are quite well?”
“Yes thank you, dear.”
“And Mr. Bigge? And Norah?”
“They had a spree all by themselves at the sea-side, you know, without Mother. Now in you go, bless you!”
*
How terribly quickly the time had rushed away. It was Sunday afternoon.
“You ask him, Mum, please. I daren’t.”
“I am sure Father would do so at once, dear, if you asked him yourself. Besides, it would please him if it came from you. He is very proud of you, you know.”
Mother and son stood in the kitchen. He had left the sitting-room ostensibly to carry in the tea-tray, but really to ask her to ask Father to play the gramophone.
Down in the sitting-room sat Richard, Mavis, Doris, Petal, Mrs. Neville, and Desmond. It was four o’clock. At a quarter past five he would be leaving to catch the half-past five train from Wakenham to London Bridge. They were all going to walk over the Hill together, to see him off.
He glanced at the Ingersoll alarm clock on the dresser shelf, ticking away alert as Mrs. Feeney. Only another seventy-five minutes! How small the kitchen looked, how dark. How small Mother was, really. He had never thought of her as small before.
“The kettle will soon boil, dear.”
Why did Mother pretend to be so cheerful? Yet somehow, it was all part of the kitchen, with its varnished wallpaper, faded and yellow; the clock on the wall that used to ring the morning alarm but had stopped owing to fumes of the gas-stove, which had made its brass wheels green; the table, the chairs, the scullery where Timmy Rat lived in his box on the copper-lid; the pail under the sink with the swab and hearthstone in it used by Mrs. Feeney; the plate-rack over the sink; the small window above, the door with its several bolts and chain; the empty water-butt outside where he had once put some roach and so been found out taking Father’s things.
How Dear Is Life Page 23