“Peronne, is that the place where Master Phillip is now? Why, it was given up by the Germans a year ago, when they had their ‘landslide in the West’, as the Trident called it. They destroyed a large tract of country, blowing up all buildings, poisoning wells, and cutting down trees, so they won’t exactly want it back, will they?” he said cheerfully. “Now that your best boy has found himself a quiet part of the line, take my advice, and enjoy your gambling, Hetty!” He was happy, and yet, somehow, the music did not sound quite the same when he started the turntable once again.
*
During intervals between his duties Phillip rode a young spirited chestnut gelding 15.3 hands high, lent to him by the transport officer. Away from the incinerated and chloride smells of camp there lay a country of rolling downland little touched by war, except that all trees had been cut down, and long ago become firewood, so that only dead stumps lined the roads. There were no villages, only an occasional heap of rubble.
It was now the second week of March. Despite drafts, the battalion was more than three hundred men under strength. He had been surprised to find that the regular battalion was little different from a service battalion: his mental picture had to be re-made, from one of sahib officers, to chaps like himself. A few new second-lieutenants from Sandhurst; others from Cadet centres and the disbanded 8th battalion of Kitchener’s Army, or what was left of it after Somme, Hindenburg Line, and Third Ypres.
The Colonel, now that the battalion was out of the line, had the officers dining in mess together every night. The Divisional General was keen on sports for the men—football, cross-country runs, potato-and-spoon races, sack races, riding school for the officers, anything to take their minds for a brief while off their work. On the last of the four days out, a football match was arranged with a north country battalion. This was one of the many return matches between the Mediators and the Pork and Beans, a rivalry in sport going back before the war. One of the company commanders, Bill Kidd, was the Mediators’ goalee; he was very fly, flinging himself in extended attitudes at the ball, usually shot at the goal by an ex-pro of a famous Northern cup-tie team. Again and again Captain Kidd managed to frustrate the thick-necked hero of the Pork and Beans, by proving, in various directions across the rectangle of the goal, that a straight line to the ball was the shortest distance between the point of his toes extended through a taut body to his fists diverting the ball. Towards the end of the game more than a hundred Lancastrians were booing Bill Kidd from behind the net, as their own hero, at centre forward, who had a habit of falling on one knee and sticking out a leg to trip an opponent, failed to score. The booing was intense towards the end; no goals were scored on either side; and the Mediator goalee remarked to Phillip as they were walking back, “Good lads, those Pork and Beans, they’re all Boche eaters!”
“What about their centre-forward? He played a dirty game.”
“Him? He’s no Boche eater! He’s dodging the column at Corps School, teaches bayonet-fighting and all the milksop stuff of those other highly-paid bastards.”
Back into reserve, work-and-carry parties were resumed, twelve hours on and twelve off. For those not on night duty the cinemas clicked every night, and the concert party put on its double bill. By now Phillip had made friends with some of the officers, whose cheery greetings added to life. With surprise he realised that he was the senior subaltern, a bogus old sweat, the riband of the 1914 Star had done the trick.
Mar. 11, Mon. More snow turning to rain. Moggers wasn’t far out about my being the C.O.’s odd job man. I am messenger boy (sometimes on a horse), asst. adj., asst. Intelligence Officer, occasional A.D.C. and understudy to Denis Sisley the adjutant. Larks sparring over fields now showing winter wheat beginning to stir. A few peasants back, using ploughs given by British govt.
Mar. 12, Tue. The senior coy commander is a queer bird, usually referring to himself as Bill Kidd, in the 3rd person. He plays the mouth-organ, and has a way of talking all his own. He said to Moggers today, ‘My blokes want new greybacks, Moggers. Most of them are walking to the incinerator by themselves’, i.e. lousy shirts. He came to the 2nd bn. a month or so ago when the 8th bn. was disbanded. One day, when standing by the padre, he said to a man of a new draft, ‘Are you a Boche eater, my lad?’ ‘No sir, I’m a Nonconformist, please sir!’
Mar. 13, Wed. Denis Sisley gone sick with ’flu to Field Amb. I am acting adjt. Thank God for Sgt. Tonks. After dinner went with ‘Spectre’ to Wasps Con. party, enjoyable, best item being from Buzz Buzz duet sung by Nelson Keys and Teddie Gerrard, impersonated by Sullivan and sgt. dressed up as Teddie G. in wig, frock, etc. The blonde who came from Eden, by way of Sweden. I wondered if Sp. was thinking of Sasha at Flossie Flowers’ disastrous New Year’s Eve party.
Mar. 15, Fri. Brigadier told Sp. that Gen. Plumer was back from Italy, to take over Fourth Army from Rawlinson (i.e. Plumer’s old Second Army). Brig, thinks main German push will come at Ypres, with only a diversionary attack down here, ‘which we shall hold’. Sp. does not think so. He saw Mowbray two days ago and was told Oskar von Hutier was commanding 18th Ger. Army from Bellenglise on St. Quentin Canal to La Fere on the Oise, about 20 miles. Von der Marwitz commands 2nd Ger. Army opposite us, and if they push here the first objective will be Albert, about 25 miles behind us. Some hopes.
The battalion moved into the rear Battle Zone known as The Aviary. Battalion H.Q. was in a quarry about fifty yards back from the road which led to Corunna Camp and the transport lines. Blocks of stone had been cut to make a bunker, with baulks of timber for the roof overlaid with tarred felt, then sheets of corrugated iron covered by a triple layer of sandbags. There were three compartments; C.O.’s bedroom, orderly room, and headquarters mess connected by a blanket curtain with the cookhouse adjoining. At this end a tunnel had been started into the quarry face, apparently to lead to a series of dug-outs; but this work had been abandoned.
Phillip felt that he would never learn to do all the hundreds of things an adjutant was responsible for, even with the help of Tonks, the orderly room sergeant, who had been a bookmaker’s clerk before the war. “I’ll be here, on the two-way blower.”
“The two-way blower, Sergeant?”
“A manner of speaking, sir. You know the old blower which they used in offices before telephones, sir? You take out the whistle-plug your end, blow down the pipe, the whistle downstairs gives the warning, and then you speak down the pipe? Never seen one, sir, no? Old-fashioned, but I’ve retained the idea, sir. I suppose from habit. Well, to come back to the organisation in the orderly room, it’s my job to prepare the outgoing routine returns, what have to go to the Brigade Staff captain. Of what comes in from Brigade some concerns the province of Major Marsden as second-in-command, some goes to the Quartermaster and some to you, sir, for the Commanding Officer. Generally speaking, Major Marsden takes care of reinforcements and training, with the battalion sergeant major. That roughly speaking is the ‘A’ side, while Colonel Mogger-’anger looks after ‘Q’.”
“Who actually makes the plans?”
“The Commanding Officer, sir, in conjunction with the Brigadier, who either holds converse with ’im direct, or communicates via the Brigade-major. Major Marsden works out the details, with the Adjutant, usually. Now if you’ll be so good as to deal with this little lot, sir, about the Pig, sir. I’ll be be’ind the blanket if you want me. Do you object to smokin’, sir? Captain Sisley permitted it.”
The excellent fellow retired. Phillip heard the match strike, imagined the sergeant drawing deep at his Woodbine, heard the long blowing out of satisfying smoke. He decided to keep his pipe in his pocket, for it would not do to appear too casual at first, and taking the top sheaf from what Sisley had called the pile of bumff, read it carefully. It was an amazing dossier: no wonder the Staff-newspaper from Corps was called Comic Cuts!
Chapter 4
THE PIG
It began with the findings of a Court of Enquiry presided over by Captain Kidd, late of the 8th battalion. This dealt with the burni
ng of a barn at Senlis, a back-area village where the 2nd battalion had gone out to rest some time before. No direct cause of fire had been found; the barn had gone up in flames while the company occupying it as a billet had been out on a route march. Previous to this, there had been a heap of smoking manure against one wall. The wall was made of pisé. He remembered Aunt Dora at Lynmouth telling him that pisé was the equivalent of cob in Devon, a pounded mixture of loamy subsoil, lime-ash, cowdung, and straw. Only cob wasn’t made in blocks first. The pisé blocks had been weather-worn, according to the findings of the court, the cracks between them stuffed in places with straw. It had been decided that this straw had got hot beside the manure heap and finally ignited. The finding of the Court of Enquiry was, according to its President, Captain Kidd, that ‘the barn was destroyed by fire caused by spontaneous combustion’.
In the barn, at the time of the fire, had been a sickly pig. It had not been burned, but got out in time, to wander off and refresh itself, according to Kidd, in the battalion latrines. From that refreshment, claimed the farmer at Senlis, the animal had died.
Reading through the dossier again, Phillip saw that it had been travelling quite a lot: from Corps to Division to Brigade to Battalion and back again by various new channels, with some short cuts here and there. He began to laugh; then feeling that he could do better than some of the old jossers who spent their time in a sort of Gilbert and Sullivan outlook, wrote a facetious parody of the whole thing; but on reflection, screwed it up and popped it in the stove. He must be serious, like Mr. Fazackerley Hollis in the office at Wine Vaults Lane.
Min. 1
To East Midland Division. Q V. 2108. 22/2/18.
For enquiry and adjustment please, reference enclosed letter from farmer at Senlis.
H. W. Shoubridge, Lt.-Col.
A.Q.M.G. Corps.
Min. 2
To 3rd Home Counties Inf. Bde. A/5786. 23/2/18.
Will you please enquire into this lamentable business?
H. F. P. St. J. Holnicott, Major
D.A. & Q.M.G. Divn.
Min. 3
To O.C. 2nd Gaultshire Regt. 24/2/18.
For report as to attached letter.
J. M. Millington, Capt.
Staff Capt., 3 H.C. Inf. Bde.
Min. 4.
To 3rd H.C. Inf. Bde. 27/2/18.
Reference attached, all the billets at Senlis were in an extremely insanitary condition and needed liberal sprinkling of creosol and other disinfectants. The pigs at this billet were allowed to roam at will, and although personally and forcibly warned on frequent occasions, they were always routing about in the latrines and rubbish pits.
D. H. Sisley, Capt. & Adjt.
for O.C. 2nd Gaults. Rgt.
Min. 5
To H.-Qrs East Midland Division. 28/2/18.
Forwarded. Please see Minute 4.
J. M. Primrose-Shaw, Brig.-Gen.
Commanding 3rd H.C. Inf. Bde.
Min. 6
To D.A. & Q.M.G. Corps. Q.V. 2108. 1/3/18.
Please see Minute 4.
It appears that the pigs should have been kept under better control. Latrines are properly disinfected and are not fit places in which pigs should be allowed to feed.
It is not considered that this is a fair claim against the public.
Mordaunt Runnymeade, Lt.-Col.
A.A. & Q.M.G. for G.O.C.
East Midland Division.
Min. 7
To East Midland Division. 4/3/18.
Although, as you say, the pig in question was not well under control, it was probably conforming to the customs of the country. It seems clear that, but for the presence of British troops and creosol, the dead pig might still be alive: in these circumstances the owner should receive compensation for the value of the pig.
H. W. Shoubridge, Lt.-Col.
A.Q.M.G. Corps.
At this point he hid his pipe when ‘Spectre’ West came in and said, “I want you to come with me round the Brigade Battle Zone at eleven o’clock. You will require a horse; send a chit and ask for Denis’s mount, will you? Well, how are you getting on? Sit down. May I borrow some of your ’baccy? What is it, Hignett’s Cavalier? That’s a good old Crocodile pouch you’ve got; one doesn’t see red rubber nowadays.”
“I bought it with my first salary in the City, Colonel. Also a curved ‘Artist’s’ pipe which held half an ounce, and a top hat.”
“What, did you smoke your hat? Whole, or in pieces?” He filled his slim curved Loewe ‘Captain’ pipe. “Evidently you felt the need for conformity and respectability early. Well, keep it up,” and having lit his pipe, he went out: whereupon Phillip re-filled his pipe and unfastened the four brass buttons of his tunic, as Denis Sisley had done when the stove got too hot. Light-heartedly he took up the sheaf of papers. Then, remembering the order for a horse, he called the sergeant, who said he would write out a chit and ask him to sign it. This being done, Phillip, feeling himself to be almost a barrister with his first brief, considered further evidence ‘In re Porcus Porcorum v. Rex’.
Min. 8
To A.D.V.S., East Midland Division. A 5786. 5/3/18.
Passed.
Will you please express an opinion as to the demise of this unfortunate animal. In view of the habits and customs of this country, it is probable that swine fever is prevalent, and that, should the animal have the seeds of disease in him, his orgy of savoury feeding would only have been indirectly responsible for his untimely end.
G. H. F. Bagshott-Brendon, Major
D.A. & Q M.G. East Midland Div.
He stared at the signature. Could Bagshott-Brendon be the same Brendon who had been A.P.M. at Ypres the previous year? The cove who had all but put him under arrest as a supposed deserter when he had been ordered by ‘Spectre’ to take a message to Advanced G.H.Q. at Westcappelle? The same old Brendon at Heathmarket in 1915, and Grantham in 1916? He asked the sergeant.
“I’ve no idea, sir.” Phillip felt that his question had been silly. Of course a sergeant could not have known. Now for it. He must reply. The Assistant Director of Veterinary Supplies obviously had ignored double-barrel’d Brendon’s Punch-like humour: perhaps the horse-doctor disliked Brendon, for he had replied somewhat curtly, it seemed.
Min. 9
To A.A. & Q.M.G. East Midland Division. 9/3/18
I regret I am unable to give any opinion as to the cause of this pig’s death.
If it can be arranged that the body be brought to Peronne I will detail an officer to make a post-mortem.
C. Treraven.
A.D.V.S. East Midland Division.
The next minute was from G.S.O. 1 Division, the senior staff-officer to the General. It declared, very politely, that “as considerable time has elapsed since the pig’s death, the course suggested in Minute 9 will probably serve no useful purpose. The claim should therefore be adjusted.”
In other words, no more mucking about, get on with it. The writer of the next Minute asked for particulars of age, weight, and breed, so that ‘a fair valuation can be arrived at’. Signed by the Claims Officer of Division. Whereupon the gilded and double-barrel’d Bagshott-Brendon had written whimsically to a mere colonel of footsloggers.
Min. 12
12/3/18
Can the O.C. 2nd Gaultshire Regt, claim to be a judge of fat stock sufficient for him to express an opinion?
G. H. F. Bagshott-Brendon, Major
D.A. & Q.M.G. East Midland Division.
The reference to Fat Stock was slightly alarming. Had Brendon, by some remote chance, censor’d his letter home, with the supposed boars being entered for the mythical Fat Stock Show? Divisional Intelligence might have set a trap for him. Putting on a casual air, he took the Minute to the Orderly Room sergeant.
“The Quartermaster may be able to tell you, sir,” said Tonks. “Colonel Moggerhanger usually arrives about this time.”
“Righty-ho, sergeant. I’ll go and meet him. I know absolutely nothing about Fat Stock——” he check
ed and added, “—in this country. It’s rather hot in here, don’t you think?”
“Can’t be too warm for me, sir!”
Phillip, wearing a driver’s issue cape, walked down the road. He passed a Chinese labour company on the way, traipsing along behind a steam-roller. He wondered what use it was, for ‘Spectre’ had told him that road-metalling was so scarce in the Fifth Army area that stone was being shipped from Cornish quarries, even from Lundy. He was wondering if the quarry was about to be opened up—would chalk do for roads, surely it was too soft?—when he saw Moggers coming towards him, riding his cob and about to be passed by a motorcar. The Vauxhall was going at a speed well over the 12 m.p.h. limit allowed in the Fifth Army area. As it went by Moggers there was a roar of “Stop, you b——r, you! You’re under arrest!”
The Vauxhall bore a small pennant on its bonnet, with the three wheat-sheaves of the divisional sign. It appeared to be empty, except for the driver; but as Moggers trotted up to it, Phillip, less than a dozen paces away, saw a cap with a red band under the crown lift itself out of a bearskin coat in the back and heard a little voice from the wrapped-up figure of the Divisional Commander say, “I don’t think my driver meant any harm, Moggers.”
Colonel Moggerhanger, erect on his cob and staring ahead, said, “Contravening General Routine Orders by exceedin’ twelve miles per hour is an offence to be dealt with by the Provost Marshal’s office, sir.”
“Oh, do you really think it is as serious as that, Moggers?” The voice was gentle, but there was steel behind it. The General turned his head around to look at Moggers.
“I do, sir!”
“I am in a hurry, Moggers.”
“I do not consider that is any reason for careless drivin’ on the part of your orderly, sir!”
“I am still in a hurry, and if you do not release my driver, I shall be late for the Army Commander’s conference, Moggers.”
“I regret the momentary inconvenience, sir, but the driver should have considered that before showering me and my charger with trash and muck.”
A Test to Destruction Page 7