by Alan Bardos
‘But they’ll shoot me.’ Swift was incredulous, much to Sir George’s amusement.
‘Yes, I expect they probably will.’
The last smattering of defiance left Swift and Sir George had the great joy of seeing him blink. ‘But, Sir George, please, there must be something you can do. I did everything you asked of me. I couldn’t help it if Talat was more concerned about saving his neck than lining his own pockets.’
‘Pull yourself together man. You still hold the King’s commission.’
Swift’s demeanour hardened, instinctively coming to attention, his guard returning as quickly as it had dropped. ‘Forgive me, Sir George, the past few months have been extremely trying.’
‘As they have for all of us.’ Sir George spoke softly, now he’d broken him, it was time for Sir George to hold his nose and bring Swift back into the fold. ‘It so happens that I can make use of you. I have a lot to organise here at GHQ. The Commander-in-Chief has placed me in a position of considerable trust and you have proved yourself a competent administrator, in the past. However, I want none of your usual antics is that clear?’
‘Yes, Sir George, and thank you for this opportunity, Sir George, you won’t regret it,’ Swift said solemnly.
‘See that I don’t.’ Sir George placed an envelope on his desk. ‘You’ll need a uniform of some kind. This is the address of an excellent outfitter here in Alexandria. You should be able to get something run up if your War Office allowance comes through. There is also a small sum of money to help you get something in the meantime and to tide you over.’
‘Thanks very much, Sir George,’ Swift said, bending down to pick up the envelope.
‘Don’t thank me, it’s come out of your pay, which I’m administering while you’re under my command. Can’t have you saving up your pennies and running off somewhere now, can we?’ Sir George smiled as Swift flushed.
‘You can’t do that, it must be against King’s Regulations…’
‘Do you really want to test me on King’s Regulations, in the precarious situation you’re in? A commanding officer is, I’m sure, perfectly entitled to place stoppages on his subordinates pay as he sees fit. Now report back here at 8:30am sharp. The orderly will tell you where you can get yourself cleaned up. You smell like a fishwife,’ Sir George quipped. After all the barbs he’d endured from Churchill, it felt good to be handing them out again.
‘Yes, Sir George, and thank you once again, I’m sure I’ll fit in swimmingly here,’ Swift said gratefully.
‘And why’s that?’ Sir George asked, returning to his paperwork.
‘Well, it used to be a whorehouse. It must be terribly humiliating for a man of your pious sensibilities to have ended up here.’ Sir George looked up and glared, but now he’d played his cards, Swift had realised he needed him and the insubordinate gleam was back in his eye.
‘Oh, just get out, you swine,’ Sir George shouted. Once Swift had fulfilled his function, there was no reason why he couldn’t be executed by his regiment.
Chapter 39
Sir George folded his newspaper and enjoyed the cool evening breeze blowing through the officers’ club. He sipped crisps gin and tonic taking stock of the officers piling into the bar.
The rumour was that Hamilton would be leaving his administrative staff behind when he moved his HQ to Lemnos. Sir George had no intention of being with them. There weren’t many laurels to be won shuffling paper around in Alexandria. He needed to form connections fast to secure a place in the inner circle.
Braithwaite, the chief of staff, was holding court with some of the new influx of officers from the 29th Division. He looked a typical regular army type, cold, hard, unimaginative and not inclined to entrust responsibility to a Whitehall civil servant. Definitely not someone who could be approached directly, Sir George decided.
With the practiced skill of an old campaigner, he’d positioned himself on an armchair near Major Jack Churchill. As the First Lord of the Admiralty’s brother, he wouldn’t be left behind and might hold some sway as to who else would be taken. He was therefore the obvious choice for Sir George to befriend and make use of his rather convenient relations.
There was even a family association between them, why he hadn’t thought to exploit it earlier was beyond him. Sir George sipped his gin and told himself that he couldn’t be expected to think of everything.
He picked up a copy of The Times and threw it away. The thing was hopelessly out of date. Reluctantly he reached for the Egyptian Gazette and snorted in disgust. A front page spread informed the world that a unit of French troops had newly arrived in Egypt, for the coming invasion of Turkey. The rag even had the cheek to speculate on the Allies’ chances of success.
‘Absolute disgrace, isn’t it?’ Sir George’s little performance had attracted the attention of Jack Churchill. Who was pointing his empty glass at the Gazette.
‘Surely something can be done to muzzle them?’ Sir George asked.
‘Sir Ian has taken the trouble of writing to the High Commissioner, but it would seem the Egyptian press is beyond his control.’
‘Absolute disgrace.’ Sir George agreed.
‘You’re Smyth, aren’t you, sent here under a bit of a cloud?’ Churchill Minor asked him.
‘I had the honour of working with your elder brother at the Admiralty and I’ve been sent here to act as his eyes and ears.’
‘I see like that is it.’ Jack raised a disbelieving eyebrow. Sir George shifted uncomfortably and pressed on his attack.
‘I believe our wives are acquainted.’
‘Oh, how extraordinary.’
‘My wife Lady Elizabeth Smyth was part of the same set as…’
‘Oh, you’re the sap that took on Libby de Lillebonne! Well, if that don’t beat all.’ Jack Churchill raised an eyebrow. Sir George maintained his stiff reserve, he’d prepared himself to take some ribbing about his marriage.
‘But you’ve got it completely wrong old chap. Libby was a friend of Clementine Hozier as was. Now Clemmy Churchill, my brother’s wife, but surely you must have stayed at Alderley.’
‘No, no I didn’t.’ If he’d been that well acquainted with the First Sea Lord or known that his dratted wife was, he wouldn’t be in this mess.
‘I think you’ve got it slightly wrong, Clemmy was a family friend. Libby would have been too young to raze hell in her set. Still quite a girl from what I hear, earned something of a reputation as a gambler. Caused a bit of a stir at the time, but all hushed up. Family married her off to avoid a scandal. No offence.’
‘Not at all. Can I get you a drink, I seem to have run dry?’ Sir George said signalling to a waiter.
Major Churchill exchanged a nod with a brusque general. ‘That’s Hunter-Weston, commander of the 29th Division. Made a name for himself in France.’
Sir George nodded at Hunter-Weston, but he’d already passed them by. Sir George was pleased none the less, Churchill was the person he needed.
‘Hunter-Bunter don’t really rate our chances when the big show opens.’ Major Churchill said, alarming Sir George.
‘But there can’t be any doubt that the chief can pull it off?’
‘Hamilton? Well, he’s respected in the army, seen more combat than any other senior officer and has been recommended for the Victoria Cross three times. His downfall as far as I can make out is what some people call independent thinking.’
Major Churchill paused as the waiter brought over a bottle of gin and a bottle of tonic and carefully poured out two large measures.
‘Independent thinking?’ Sir George prompted, taking his drink and passing the other to Churchill.
Churchill winked and lifted his glass in thanks. ‘Yes, Hamilton’s written a number of books in which he has expressed the opinion, among other things, that cavalry has no place on a modern battlefield, you can imagine how that was received in the army. He even managed to insult Edward VII somehow who publicly snubbed him in return.’
‘My God!’ Sir George c
ouldn’t think of anything more mortifying or damaging.
‘Yes, quite, so by the start of the war, poor old Hamilton had been side-lined. Being given command of the Mediterranean Expeditionary Force was apparently a total surprise. Mind you he was on Kitchener’s staff during the Boer War and therefore well known to the Minister of War. That’s not to say he doesn’t know how to command.’
‘No, absolutely,’ Sir George didn’t doubt that Hamilton knew how to play the game and had toadied for all he was worth. Sir George felt confident that a man who had come back from such horrific career setbacks must surely be able to redeem his own.
Sir George noticed Swift approaching, wearing a Tommy’s service jacket and carrying a sheaf of papers. Sir George saw an opportunity to demonstrate his ability to command and catch the Major’s eye.
‘Hello, who’s this?’ Jack Churchill asked as Johnny stood to attention in front of them.
‘Oh, that’s just Swift, my office drudge.’
‘Should he be in here?’
‘He is an officer, I can assure you,’ Sir George turned to his subordinate, ‘Swift, what the hell do you mean by coming in here dressed like that?’
‘It’s the best that could be found on the money you…’
‘Never mind that, what is it?’
‘These need to be signed.’ Swift said handing him the papers.
‘Signed what?’
‘Sir.’ Swift said awkwardly and Major Churchill nodded approvingly.
Sir George took the papers and began to authorise them. ‘Sorry about this, Major Churchill, it never stops. Would you mind witnessing?’
Sir George passed the papers to Churchill. To stop Swift from forging his name on money orders, Sir George had initiated a system whereby everything that he needed to sign also had to be witnessed.
‘Quite alright from what I understand, you’re doing a hell of a job.’ Churchill said, signing the papers.
‘We must all fight the war in our own way.’ Sir George said modestly, pleased with the turn of events. ‘The complexity of the logistical problems we face is quite staggering. I worry that without someone who knows the ropes on hand in Lemnos, we might come a cropper.’
‘Don’t I know you from somewhere?’ Major Churchill had addressed the comment to Swift.
‘I really wouldn’t have thought so unless you make a habit of frequenting the lower-end brothels of Paris,’ Sir George put in.
‘Yes, that’s it, Swift. Aren’t you the Johnny who cuckolded old Smyth here?’ Churchill said giving the papers back to Swift.
‘Yes sir, I am,’ Swift said and left.
Sir George caught his breath, he had discovered a worse social humiliation than being snubbed by the King.
Chapter 40
Johnny left the officers’ club and walked along streets lined with palm trees. The evening air was cool and refreshing after the stifling atmosphere inside.
He wanted to go somewhere and dull his mind, but he needed to file the paperwork Sir George had signed, first. Johnny could feel himself being seduced back into the reassuring monotony of clerical work and the opportunity it brought for his mind to dwell. This was the first time Johnny had worked in an office since he’d got a job with Gavrilo Princip in Sarajevo. Johnny couldn’t help but wonder how everything might have been, if he’d acted differently back then.
He supposed the worst of it all was that his mission to Constantinople had failed. He hadn't redeemed himself and now men would be sent into harm’s way while he was back serving Sir George.
As much as Johnny had enjoyed seeing Sir George humiliated by the staff major, it reminded him why he was here and why he was bound to a vain preening dilettante.
Two poised nurses from Queen Alexandra's Imperial Military Nursing Service caught his attention, charming in their crisp grey uniforms and Little Red Riding Hood capes. They weren’t a patch on Gabrielle, his French-Canadian nurse, but Johnny flashed them a rakish smile anyway and they carried on as if nothing had happened.
The Tommy’s service jacket had proved pretty useful in helping Johnny avoid any type of responsibility at HQ and if he ever made it back to the front, it might fool a sniper trained to bag officers first.
Unfortunately, it did little to loosen the corsets of an Imperial Nurse intent on bagging an officer, for very different purposes. The fleeting thrill of a challenge stirred in Johnny, but in his current state he knew it would take days to bag a brace of nurses, fresh off the boat from some prim little finishing camp in Surrey.
He’d have a new uniform and all the other kit essential for a young subaltern soon enough. Then it would be a very different story. Sir George had been too busy showing off in front of the staff major to realise that they’d just signed the money order for it.
Johnny entered the headquarters building and tried to imagine what it must have been like in better times, but he could never quite conjure up the right images. He wondered if the old brothel felt too much like a place where flesh was bought and sold cheaply, but he feared it might be because his head was too full of images of a breathless nurse whispering French endearments.
Johnny worked his way through the sprawling house, past the people leaving for the night to his particular corner, lit a candle and began to file the paperwork. His head buzzing with the static of repetition and felt his mind wonder. He strolled into the next office. It was empty, so he started to look through the ledgers that recorded the arrival and departure of ships and their passengers. He was so bored that this gave him the first spark of excitement since he’d got to Alexandria.
The shipping ledgers weren’t really his business, which made it all the more intoxicating to go through the long lists of passenger names. If caught he’d have no good reason for doing so and face some rather difficult questioning and another accusation about working with the enemy. Johnny spent a good half an hour skimming through the lists, desperate for anything to distract him from his real work. Then it was there LEE-PERKINS, G. STAFF NURSE, BILLETED 15 GENERAL HOSPITAL, ALEXANDRIA.
‘You, come here, I need assistance.’
Johnny tensed. The shock sent his head reeling and he dropped the ledger knocking a pile of papers on the floor.
‘Look lively, you clumsy oaf, and stand to attention when an officer addresses you.
Johnny balled his fists, recognising the distinctive high-pitched whine in the voice. ‘Did you hear me?’ The voice shrieked. ‘I’m…’
‘Crassus Bloody Dawkins.’ Johnny turned around.
Crassus glared at Johnny. ‘Swift the traitor – the turncoat. So this is the rock you crawled under to avoid justice?’
‘I haven’t been avoiding justice. I was assigned to special duties,’ Johnny said.
‘Special duties, that makes sense it’s no job for a gentleman,’ Crassus scoffed. ‘Your family connections must be failing for you to end up in a uniform like that. You’re evidently on very special duties indeed.’
Crassus preened to show off his immaculately tailored uniform and luxuriantly waxed moustache. ‘You appear to be the only person here, so I’ll have to make do.’
‘You’ve just arrived with the 29th Division?’ Johnny asked, he’d missed his name in the ledgers.
‘Yes, I’m a Brigade Intelligence officer. The maps we’ve been given date back to the Crimean War. I demand that you issue me with something made this century!’ Crassus said impatiently.
‘I’m sorry, Crassus old chap that’s not my department, but I understand that it’s the same for everyone, so you’ll just have to get on with it. Like everyone else.’
Crassus glared contemptuously. He did not get on with it like everyone else. ‘You’re still a bastard, Swift. What is your purpose then, other than to frustrate decent officers doing their duty?’
‘Quartermaster,’ Johnny said, for want of a better title.
‘Oh, supply clerk, should have known you’d get your fingers in that pie.’ Crassus produced a list, ‘As it happens, I’ve also been aske
d to hand in this requisition for supplies.’
‘Still the grocer’s boy then? You’re evidently not much better at working the system than me.’
‘How dare you? I obtained my position on merit, not through connections my mother made with an elderly general.’
Crassus’s maliciousness surprised Johnny and made him laugh. ‘Oh, come now Crassus, we both know that isn’t true. You got your posting by doing a deal with the Colonel. Like some squalid transaction between a shopkeeper and a backstreet tradesman.’
‘May I remind you that it was your betrayal of the battalion that I was trying to rectify?’
‘What I did I did for my men. What you did was for yourself.’
‘There we have it, all comes down to the petty jealousy of the poor little bastard.’ Crassus gave a superior smile.
‘Jealous that you’re new money, yes. Not that you’re an artless and vindictive social climber.’
‘No, you’d rather be a horrible little filing oik.’ Trembling, Crassus threw the list of supplies at Johnny. ‘Have these items delivered in full to my brigade or I’ll know the reason why!’
Johnny ran up the steps of the nurses home of 15 General Hospital and into the lobby, the smell of disinfectant heightening his anticipation. He approached a doorman sitting behind a reception desk. He looked like he’d been there since Gordon went to Khartoum and had the service ribbons to prove it.
‘I would like to see Staff Nurse Lee-Perkins.’
The old veteran looked Johnny up and down. ‘Gentlemen aren’t permitted to enter the premises.’
‘Can you ask her to come out and see me? Lieutenant Jonathan Swift.’
‘Lieutenant indeed. She’s on duty.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, I’m sure.’
‘Do you know when she’s back?’
The doorman let out a low moan, ‘What am I, her social secretary?’
Johnny placed his wrists on the counter and glared at him, copying Talat Pasha. The doorman relented and started looking through the register.