Everybody looked up when Jock came in, and three or four dashed forward to tell him the bad news. He soothed them like children, like dogs. He put his palms out in front of him and waved them up and down in the air.
‘For Jesus’ sake,’ he said, and apologised to the Padre who pretended he needed no apology. Then he got Cairns to tell him the story.
It had happened only half an hour before. After a week of tactful quiet, of asking questions and making no comments on the answers, of pointing here and nodding there, of listening and of inspection – after all this, the Colonel had made his first move, and he had made it when Jock was out of the Mess.
But telling the story, Cairns fell over himself to be fair.
The Colonel had ordered that the officers should forgather in the ante-room that afternoon at 1430 hours. He had put a notice on the board to that effect, just an hour before lunch. As they sat round disconsolately sipping their coffee, he blew into the ante-room, looking as light as thistledown. He was wearing his bonnet; and in the Mess. He asked them to sit in one corner of the room and as they assembled he stared out of the window at the low grey clouds. He seemed to be deep in thought, and far away from them. There was a minute before he recovered himself, and moving his walking-stick with his wrist he tapped the crook of it against his lips. Then he dropped it to the floor and addressed them in his sharp light voice.
‘When I first came to this barracks the social responsibilities of an officer – and particularly of a subaltern – very greatly outweighed his military duties.’ He glanced at Macmillan and Macmillan smiled, with a flash of white teeth, but the smile was not returned. The Colonel had not wasted his questions or his week. He knew their vanities too. ‘This was quite common before the war. The last thing I want to do is re-establish that order.’ The Quartermaster nodded ‘hear, hear,’ to that. He sank his chins into his chest and Barrow continued: ‘We are first and foremost soldiers and the greater part of our energies must be devoted to training. On the range; drilling; marching; p.t. and so forth.’
They sat like a dull class. He cleared his throat and struck his stick against his thigh.
‘On the other hand, gentlemen, it is necessary that we should play our full part in the social life of the locality. Very necessary. And for this reason it is important that we should maintain certain standards; standards which have been maintained for close on two hundred years. It is part of our responsibility.’
Nobody could guess what he was driving at, but nobody liked it. Some stared unblinkingly at the Colonel’s face. Others shifted in their seats, raised their eyebrows and shrugged. The Colonel talked swiftly and without a trace of Scottish accent.
‘Each Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday morning at 0715 hours all officers will report in this ante-room.’ There was a mumble at that. ‘0715?’ ‘Saturday?’ But Barrow did not seem to hear, and if he did hear, he did not heed. ‘When the weather improves we may parade outside. For three-quarters of an hour there will be dancing, gentlemen. You will report dressed as you are now, but with plimsolls on, and the Adjutant will instruct the Pipe-Major to come and see me to make arrangements for a piper. All right?’
‘Sir.’ Jimmy sat up straight.
‘The following dances will be mastered: the eightsome and foursome reels, the Duke of Perth, the Hamilton House, Duke and Duchess of Edinburgh, Petronella, the Cumberland Reel.’
‘But, Colonel, the officers know these dances.’ It was Rattray who spoke. It was a stupid thing to do, to interrupt at such a time, but his national dancing was a point of pride. The Colonel’s face remained blank, and the silence which followed made even Rattray blush a little.
‘No one,’ the Colonel went on firmly, ‘no one will raise his hands above his head, except in the foursome reel. No shouting, no swinging on one arm. We will go into these details later. You will not be being trained for a professional performance. You will be being – being reminded of the manner of dancing traditionally adopted by an officer of this Regiment.’
Cairns had intended to leave the story there, but everybody was keen to tell what had happened next. Douglas Jackson was something of a hero for what he had said next. At the end of a long, hostile silence he had spoken clearly. Dusty Millar was anxious that Jock should not miss this.
‘Come on, Douglas, what did you say?’
Lieutenant Jackson had a deep voice to match his Prussian head. ‘I can’t remember my words. I said I understood his visit to the Mess that first night was quite unofficial. That’s the only time he’s seen us dance.’
‘Aye, that was it, that was it,’ Dusty said, enjoying the moment again.
Jock nodded. ‘A-huh. And what did he say to that?’
‘It was unofficial. That was all he said. But he was pretty angry.’
The doctor grinned and sidled. ‘Douglas is a marked man now.’
Jock raised his eyebrows and he walked about, while they waited. ‘Well, well. I’ve always said some of the children could do with a dancing class.’
‘Och, heck,’ Rattray said, flaming up. ‘It’s no dancing like that we should be taught. We’re not a lot of playboys.’
Jock opened his eyes wide. ‘No.’ He ran his tongue round his cheek. ‘No, we’re not that.’ Charlie knew the mood well: he knew how much Jock was enjoying himself. He knew the technique, and Charlie knew even before Jock turned that he would walk away and touch one of the chairs with the tips of his fingers.
‘You notice he did it when you were out,’ someone said.
‘Maybe that was tact.’ He spread out his hands. ‘Gents, we’re no wanting any mutinies in this Battalion. We’ll leave that to the Navy.’ Jock wagged his head. ‘I think he’s been very reasonable.’
Jimmy nodded. ‘Of course he has.’
‘Hell, this is the first thing he’s done,’ somebody said.
Jimmy smiled and tried again. ‘There’s bound to be some changes.’
‘No one’s denying that, Jimmy,’ Alec Rattray said. ‘But this is something different. The way we dance is our own business, isn’t it? I’m no sure he’s a Scotsman at all.’
‘Aye,’ they agreed.
‘Dancing’s off parade; and off parade’s off parade.’
Macmillan suggested lightly, ‘We do get a little rowdy.’
‘Rowdy?’ Jock turned on him. ‘A-huh. You agree with the Colonel?’
‘I’m not sure it was his business to …’
‘You agree though: you agree?’
‘By and large.’
‘Aye,’ Jock nodded. ‘By and large. There you are then. It’s what the doctor would call a difference of opinion, or emphasis or whatever the word is, down in Oxford. That’s the way of it: so we best say no more about it. We don’t want to be rent with schisms asunder. Do we?’
Jimmy had to leave then, and the others shifted places. They were not altogether satisfied, but had they known Jock as well as Charlie did, they would have realised that he had not finished. He was talking in his softest voice.
‘It’s always difficult, a change-over. It’s as Jimmy says. Mind you, it seems a pity that he should choose the dancing. What time was this parade to be?’
Five or six voices replied: ‘0715.’
‘Aye; and for the subalterns?’
A shout of ‘No.’
‘Oh, captains as well? … All officers? It’s all officers, is it?’
‘Aye, it is. That’s what he said. Have you ever heard such bloody nonsense? Some of us have been dancing thirty years,’ Dusty said hotly.
‘Jock, we know you’re in a difficult position …’
‘I am: I am.’ He shook his head seriously at that, but they gathered closer.
Rattray warmed to the subject: ‘But this is different. It is. It’s a blow at our independence. The likes of this has never been before.’
‘Never.’
‘And anyway he’s wrong about the hands in the eightsome. Of course he is. I question if he knows …’
Jock grew reticent,
and modest. He scratched his head and blew out his cheeks. He was in a tricky position. But no one would say that Jock let them down. He would see to that. They spoke more freely. They repeated some of the Colonel’s more irrelevant questions, and it was the first time that Jock had allowed himself the luxury of listening. Every criticism of Barrow was for him another flattery. But he did not seem to lead them on: indeed, he protested that they should not make it difficult for him. Even the doctor was bewildered by his display, and it was generally supposed in the Mess that a knowledge of physiology gave the doctor an insight into human motive and character beyond his fellow officers.
‘Aye,’ Jock said thoughtfully. ‘Off parade’s off parade, right enough.’
Many of the officers had to leave before the end, but the cronies stayed and half an hour later they were winking at each other. Jock had been like a lamb since the first night the Colonel arrived. He had done just what Morag had advised him, and he had kept clear of the Mess. But now he kept tapping his fingers on a knee that was scarred with battle wounds.
SIX
JIMMY CAIRNS SAID nothing to the Colonel as they made their way over to the Naafi canteen to inspect it. The Colonel was investigating some rumours about pilfering. He was his usual cool and efficient self, and he treated his Adjutant almost as if he were a private secretary. He turned to him constantly asking him to make a note of some detail. But on their way back to H.Q. block, Jimmy lifted his eyes from the ground and looked the Colonel in the face for the first time that afternoon. He was much too honest a man to harbour something in his heart for long. He liked to get things into the open.
‘Colonel?’
‘Jimmy?’
‘I’m afraid they won’t like it, sir.’
‘Who? The Naafi people? They’re not meant to.’
‘No, sir; you know fine who I mean.’ The low afternoon sun, shimmering red through the cloud, dazzled him as he spoke.
The Colonel stopped and put his hands on his hips. He frowned, and moved his moustache.
‘You mean the officers?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I wouldn’t do it unless I thought it were necessary.’
‘But, Colonel, it’s almost an insult. Some of them have been dancing for thirty years or more.’
‘I’m afraid it’s an order.’ The Colonel started forward again, but Jimmy persevered.
‘Surely the officers above field rank might be …’
‘I said it was an order.’ The Colonel’s voice was low and icy. Then he stretched his neck and went on in his usual tone. ‘There; the windows in that block could do with a wash. I suppose it’s all this snow. What’s the building used for?’
‘Band Block, sir,’ Jimmy answered absently.
‘I see.’
The Regimental Sergeant-Major was standing just inside the door to H.Q. and he came noisily to a salute, bringing all the corporals and orderlies in the vicinity to attention.
‘Party–party ’shun!’
‘Mr Riddick?’
‘Sir.’ The voice was thick and immensely loud.
‘Please ask the Pipe-Major to come and see me.’
The R.S.M. despatched an orderly to fetch Mr McLean straight away. He then retired to his office and removing his bonnet called for his cup of tea. Nothing delighted him more than that the Pipe-Major should be on the carpet. It seemed to him that during Jock’s term of office the pipes and drums had been granted too many privileges. But then Mr Riddick had no more music in him than Major Charlie Scott.
When the Adjutant and the Colonel walked into the Colonel’s office they were surprised to find Jock there. The Colonel was more than surprised; he was irritated. Nobody had any right to enter his office in his absence. Jock turned and nodded: he was still flushed from his conversation in the Mess and he was spoiling for a battle, but the Colonel still managed to keep his patience. He held his stick in both hands and glanced down at it.
‘Hullo, Jock,’ he said with a stiff informality.
Jock rolled his eyes. ‘Do I intrude?’
The Colonel said, ‘Don’t go, Jimmy,’ and Cairns closed the door behind him. He would have much preferred to leave, and although he was not a man to look at the ceiling or at the floor, he could not make up his mind whether he would be right to meet Barrow’s eye, or Jock’s. He glanced from one to the other, and fidgeted. Barrow laid his stick on his desk and walked briskly round to his chair.
‘What can we do for you?’
Jock turned, almost pirouetted:
‘I was wondering if you wanted me this afternoon.’
‘Oh, thank you very much.’ The Colonel was both serious and polite. ‘I don’t think there are any more queries just at present. I’m afraid it must all be a terrible bore for you, just now.’
‘Bore?’ Jock was at his most infuriating. ‘Bore? A-huh. What have you been up to, the day?’
The Colonel unlocked the drawer of his desk and brought out his leather blotter and some papers. It was the sort of blotter a boy is given by a grandparent who shops at Fortnum’s. He had kept it for many years. He turned over some papers, pretending to concentrate on them, and took his reading glasses from his tunic pocket. He buttoned the pocket carefully before laying the case down just beyond the blotter, on the desk. He did not feel like telling Jock the exact purpose of his inspection.
‘Jimmy and I have been running through some of that fire drill. I noticed on the map that there aren’t any extinguishers in the body of the Naafi.’
Jock replied indignantly. ‘There are three or four there. I mind them fine.’
‘Really? They’re not on the chart.’
He looked at Jimmy, who nodded in agreement and who was about to say something when Jock interrupted.
‘I was never good at the paper work, Colonel. But you’ll find them there right enough. Is that not right, Jimmy?’
Jimmy nodded. He was again about to speak when the Colonel cut in. ‘Oh, quite right. We’ve just been over and checked.’ He smiled. ‘I don’t enjoy the paper work either.’
‘I would have thought that Whitehall gave a man a taste for it.’
‘Curzon Street, as a matter of fact. Well, Jock, thanks for calling in. I mustn’t keep you.’ The Colonel would not have put it as clumsily as that had he not intended the hint to be translated as an order. But Jock paused, his weight thrown on one foot. His words did not come as he had intended them to. They came in an almost apologetic rush.
‘This … eh … This dancing caper. You don’t expect me to turn up, do you?’
Jimmy felt suddenly cold. He glanced at the Colonel who had removed his glasses.
‘All officers.’
Jock hesitated, smiled sourly.
‘It’s not on, boy.’
The Colonel replaced his glasses and fingered his papers again. But he did not use his artillery. He spoke lightly like a nanny.
‘I’m not much looking forward to 7.15 myself. But I think we’d best all turn up.’
Jock’s smile had changed to something nearer a sneer. He spoke more rudely than he had dared before. ‘Is that an order, when you say you think we’d best all turn up?’
‘If you like to put it that way.’
Jimmy moved the handle of the door, but Jock still hesitated. He walked back a step or two towards the desk and he spoke in quite a different tone of voice. He was pleading.
‘Look here, boy, if …’
‘Colonel. I prefer to be addressed as Colonel.’ His voice was raised and now Jock, too, grew angry. ‘Very well then, Colonel. If I and some …’
‘If I may suggest; some other time.’ The Colonel did not look up, and Jock was badly stung. He clenched his fists. His colour rose. Then he straightened up.
‘O.K., Colonel,’ he said through his teeth. ‘O.K.’
He made a great business of the final salute, smashing his heels together, and Barrow nodded. As he had no hat on, he was not called to return the salute. Jock did not look at Cairns as he marched out.
He did not look at anybody: he did not even remember to return Mr Riddick’s salute as he passed through the lobby. He looked neither to left or right. He marched.
Much to the R.S.M.’s disappointment, Mr McLean was faultlessly dressed; and he did not look perturbed. Then he never did. Mr Riddick gave a phlegmy cough, about turned, and knocked on the Colonel’s door.
‘March in, Mr McLean.’ He tried to make it sound as near to an order as possible. ‘March in.’
The Pipe-Major walked into the room and he came to a halt without making much noise about it. He did not bang his feet on the ground.
Mr Riddick was listening at the door, but his face soon wore a disappointed expression. The Colonel was explaining to the Pipe-Major just how he wanted the officers to dance and he was speaking in a friendly way.
‘Oh yes, sir.’ Mr McLean sounded like a friendly game-keeper. ‘Oh yes; we’ll manage that, sir.’
‘Have you a piper competent to do the job?’
‘All the pipers are good, sir. They’re a good band. But I think I had better go along myself. It will make it easier, I’m thinking.’ There was just a wash of the Atlantic in his voice.
‘You needn’t if there’s somebody else.’
‘Well, if I can’t some morning, then we’ll send along Corporal Fraser. He’s tactful, you know.’
‘Very good, Pipe-Major.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ The Pipe-Major seemed to want to go on talking. ‘It is a while since we have had a subalterns’ parade of this sort, though Colonel Sinclair once suggested it would be a good idea.’
‘It isn’t only the subalterns, you understand.’
‘Oh? But surely the senior officers …’
The Colonel looked annoyed. He touched his moustache.
‘The order affects all officers.’
‘All the officers. I see, sir.’ The Pipe-Major sighed. It was time he left. But as he turned the Colonel said:
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