Dance to the Music of Time, Volume 3

by Anthony Powell

  ‘Where’s your Company Commander?’ asked Pinkus. ‘The Commandant wants him pronto.’

  ‘In his room, I suppose. The Company’s just been dismissed. He’s probably changing.’

  ‘What’s this about putting one of the officers of the course under arrest? The Commandant’s bloody well brassed off about it, I can tell you – and, what’s more, the Commandant’s own helmet is missing, too, and he thinks one of your fellows has taken it.’

  ‘Why on earth?’

  ‘Your Platoon falls in just outside his quarters.’

  ‘Much more likely to be one of the permanent staff on Fire Picquet. They pass just by the door.’

  ‘The Commandant doesn’t think so.’

  ‘I bet one of the Fire Picquet pinched it.’

  ‘The Commandant says he doesn’t trust your mob an inch.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘That’s what he says.’

  ‘If he wants to run down the Regiment, he’d better take it up with our Commanding Officer.’

  ‘Make enquiries, or there’ll be trouble. Now, where’s Gwatkin?’

  He went off, mouthing refinedly to himself. I saw what had happened. In the stresses following realization that he had forgotten about the changed codewords, Gwatkin had also forgotten Bithel. During the exertions of the day in the field, I, too, had given no thought to the events of the previous night, at least none sufficient to consider how best the situation should be handled on our return. Now, back at Castlemallock, the Bithel problem loomed up ominously. Bad enough, in any case, to leave the matter unattended made it worse than ever. Even Kedward had no copybook solution.

  ‘My God,’ he said, ‘I suppose old Bith ought to have been under escort all day. Under my escort, too, if it comes to that. It was Rowland’s last order to me.’

  ‘Anyway, Bithel should have been brought up before the Commandant within twenty-four hours and charged, as a matter of routine. That’s the regulation, isn’t it?’

  ‘Twenty-four hours isn’t up yet.’

  ‘Still, it’s a bit late in the day.’

  ‘Rowland’s going to find this one tough to sort out.’

  ‘There’s nothing we can do about it.’

  ‘Look, Nick,’ said Kedward, ‘I’ll go off right away and see exactly what’s happened before I take my boots off. Christ, my feet feel like balloons.’

  After a while, Kedward returned, saying Gwatkin was already with the Castlemallock Commandant, straightening out the Bithel affair. When I saw Gwatkin later, he looked desperately worried.

  ‘That business of Bithel last night,’ he said harshly.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘We’d better forget about it.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘This Anti-Gas course is almost at an end.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Bithel goes back to the Battalion.’

  ‘He may be going up to Division.’

  ‘Bithel?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What on earth for?’

  ‘To command the Mobile Laundry.’

  ‘I hadn’t heard that,’ said Gwatkin. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Bithel himself told me.’

  Gwatkin did not look best pleased, but he reserved judgment.

  ‘The CO will be glad to be rid of him,’ he said, ‘no doubt about that. The point of what I’m saying now is that Bithel may have made a bloody swine of himself last night, but it’s going to be too much of a business to see he gets his deserts.’

  ‘I can understand that.’

  ‘I suspect that Bithel himself got hold of the Mess waiter concerned. Between the two of them, they are prepared to swear that the whole thing was an accident. Bithel stayed in bed all day, saying he had ‘flu.’

  ‘How did the Commandant know about the arrest?’

  ‘It leaked out. He seemed to think I’d been officious. I suppose he was just waiting to get something back on me for trying to prevent him from standing between me and my own men and their training. He said Bithel may have had a few drinks, even too many, but, after all, he’d been through the gas-chamber, and, as it turned out, was also sickening for ‘flu. The Commandant said, too, he didn’t want a row of that undesirable sort at his School of Chemical Warfare. He’d already had trouble about that particular Mess waiter, and, if it came up for court-martial, there might be a real stink.’

  ‘Probably just as well to drop the whole affair.’

  Gwatkin sighed.

  ‘Do you think that too, Nick?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Then you really don’t care about discipline either,’ said Gwatkin. ‘That’s what it means. You’re like the rest. Well, well, few officers seem to these days – or even decent behaviour.’

  He spoke without bitterness, just regret. All the same, it was perhaps a relief to him – as it certainly was to everyone else – that the Bithel charge should be dropped. However, matters had gone too far at the outset for the whole story to be suppressed. Its discussion throughout the Castlemallock garrison eventually spread to the Battalion; no doubt, in due course, to the ears of the Commanding Officer. Bithel himself, as usual, took the whole business in his stride.

  ‘I made a proper fool of myself that night,’ he said to me, just before he left Castlemallock. ‘Ought to stick to beer really. Whiskey is always a mistake on top of gin-and-orange. Might have messed up my chances of getting that command. Captain Gwatkin does go off the deep-end, though. Never know what he’s going to do next. The Commandant was very decent. Saw my side. War news doesn’t look too good, does it? What do you think about Italy coming in? Just a lot of ice-creamers, that’s my opinion.’

  Then, one sweltering afternoon, returning with the Platoon after practising attack under cover of a smokescreen, I found several things had happened which altered the pattern of life. When I went into the Company Office, Gwatkin and Kedward were both there. They were standing facing each other. Even as I came through the door and saluted, disturbance was in the air. In fact tension could be described as acute. Gwatkin was pale, Kedward rather red in the face. Neither of them spoke. I made some casual remark about the afternoon’s training. This was ignored by Gwatkin. There was a pause. I wondered what had gone wrong. Then Gwatkin spoke in his coldest, most military voice.

  ‘There will be some changes announced in Part II Orders next week, Nick,’ he said.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You’ll like to know them before they appear officially.’

  I could not imagine why all this to-do should be made; why, if there were to be changes, Gwatkin could not quite simply state what the changes were, instead of behaving as if about to notify me that the British Government had surrendered, and Kedward and I were to make immediate arrangements for our platoons to become prisoners-of-war. He paused again. Behaviour like this was hard on the nerves.

  ‘Idwal is your new Company Commander,’ Gwatkin said.

  Everything was explained in a flash. There was nothing to do but remain silent.

  ‘There have been other promotions too,’ said Gwatkin. He spoke as if this fact, that there were other promotions, was at least some small consolation. I looked at Kedward. Then I saw, what I had missed before, that he was in an ecstasy of controlled delight. I had not at first noticed this to be the reason for his tense bearing. The air of strain had been imposed by an effort not to grin too much. Even Kedward must have realized this was a painful moment for Gwatkin. Now, the presence of a third party slightly easing the situation, he allowed a slight smile to appear on his face. It spread. He could no longer limit its extent. The grin, by its broadness, almost concealed his little moustache.

  ‘Congratulations, Idwal.’

  ‘Thanks, Nick.’

  ‘And what about you, Rowland?’

  I could hardly imagine Gwatkin was to be promoted major. If that were to happen, he would be looking more cheerful. There was a possibility he might be going to command Headquarter Company, an appointment he was known to covet. I doubt
ed myself whether he were wholly qualified to deal with Headquarter Company’s many components, remembering, among other things, the incident with the bren-carrier. All the same, I was not prepared for the answer I received, even though I knew, as soon as I heard it, that the sentence pronounced on him should have been guessed at the first indication of upheaval.

  ‘I’m going to the ITC,’ said Gwatkin.

  ‘Pending—’

  ‘To await a posting,’ Gwatkin said abruptly.

  He could not conceal his own mortification. The corner of his mouth worked a little. It was not surprising he was upset. There was no adequate comment at hand to offer in condolence. Gwatkin had been relieved of his Company. There was nothing more or less to it than that. He was being sent to the Regimental Depot – the Infantry Training Centre – whence he would emerge, probably posted to a Holding Battalion finding drafts for the First Line. His career as a military paragon was at an end, though not perhaps his visions as a monk of war, after the echoes and dreams of action died away. Gwatkin might get a company again, he might not. His Territorial captaincy at least was substantive, so that he could not, like holders of an emergency commission, be reduced in rank. However, a captaincy was not in every respect an advantage for someone who hoped to repair this catastrophe. An unreducible captain could find himself in some dead-end where three pips were by convention required, ship’s adjutant, for example, or like Pinkus at Castlemallock. That would not be much of fate for a Stendhalian hero, a man bent on making a romantic career in arms, the sort of figure I had supposed Gwatkin only a few months before; in Stendhal, I thought this fate would be attributed to malign political intrigue, the work of Ultras or Freemasons.

  ‘You can fall out, both of you, now,’ said Gwatkin, speaking with forced cheerfulness. ‘I’ll straighten out the papers for you, Idwal. We’ll go through them together tomorrow.’

  ‘What about the Imprest Account?’ asked Kedward.

  ‘I’ll bring it up to date.’

  ‘And the other Company accounts?’

  ‘Them, too.’

  ‘I only mention that, Rowland, because you’re sometimes a bit behindhand with them. I don’t want to have to waste a lot of time on paper work. There’s too much to do about the Company without that.’

  ‘We’ll check everything.’

  ‘Has that bren been returned we lent to the Anti-Gas School?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘I shall want it formally handed over again, before I sign for the Company’s weapons.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Then Corporal Rosser’s promotion.’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘Did you decide to make him up?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Have you told him?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Then don’t tell him, Rowland.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I want to see more of Rosser before I decide he’s to have a third stripe,’ said Kedward. ‘I shall think about it further.’

  Gwatkin’s face took on a shade more colour. These were forcible reminders of Kedward’s changed position. I was myself a little surprised at the manner in which Kedward accepted the Company as his undoubted right. In one sense, he could have behaved in a more tactful manner about the take-over, anyway leave such questions until they were going through the papers together; in another, as Company Commander designate, he was there to arrange matters in the Company’s best interests – by Gwatkin’s own definition – not to be polite or spare Gwatkin’s feelings. Nevertheless, Gwatkin had not cared for being treated in this manner. He tapped with his knuckles on the blanket covering the trestle table, played with his beloved symbol, the rubber stamp. Gwatkin was deeply humiliated, even though keeping himself under control.

  ‘I want to be alone now, boys,’ he said.

  He began to rustle papers. Kedward and I retired. We went along the passage together, Kedward deep in thought.

  ‘Rowland is taking this pretty hard,’ I said.

  Kedward showed surprise.

  ‘Losing the Company?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘He must have seen it coming.’

  ‘I don’t think he did for a moment.’

  ‘Rowland has been getting less and less efficient lately,’ Kedward said. ‘You must have noticed that. You said yourself something was wrong, when you came back from the Aldershot course.’

  ‘I somehow didn’t expect him to be unstuck just like this.’

  ‘The Company needs a thorough overhaul,’ said Kedward. ‘There are one or two points I shall want altered in your own Platoon, Nick. It is far from satisfactory. I’ve noticed there’s no snap about them when they march in from training. That’s always a good test of men. They are the worst of the three platoons at musketry, too. You’ll have to give special attention to the range. And another thing, Nick, about your own personal turn-out. Do get that anti-gas cape of yours properly folded. The way you have it done is not according to regulations.’

  ‘I’ll see to all that, Idwal. Who are you getting as another subaltern?’

  ‘Lyn Craddock. He’ll go in senior to you, of course. I think Lyn should help pull the Company together.’

  ‘When do you put your pips up?’

  ‘Monday. By the way, did I tell you Yanto Breeze is to become a captain too – in the Traffic Control Company. I just heard that this afternoon from one of the drivers who brought some stuff here. It isn’t like getting a company in a battalion, but it’s promotion all the same.’

  ‘Does Rowland know about Yanto?’

  ‘I was just telling him when you came into the Company Office – saying it was funny two of his subalterns should become captain at the same moment.’

  ‘How did Rowland take it?’

  ‘Didn’t seem much interested. Rowland never liked Yanto. I don’t know whether all that about his sister rankled. I say, Nick, do you know what?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m going to write tonight and arrange about the wedding on my next leave.’

  ‘When’s that going to be?’

  ‘Getting the Company may mean a postponement, but even then it won’t be too far off. By the way, I’ve got a new snap of my fiancée. Like to see it?’

  ‘Of course.’

  We gazed at the photograph.

  ‘She’s altered her hair,’ Kedward said.

  ‘So I see.’

  ‘I’m not sure I like it the new way,’ he said.

  Nevertheless, he gave the photograph its routine kiss before putting it away. His promotion, his fiancée, the wedding in prospect, were matters of fact to him, not, as to Gwatkin, dreams come true. When Gwatkin was given the Company, that must have seemed the first important step in a glorious career; when he first took out Maureen, entry into an equally glorious romance. Kedward, it was true, accepted accession of rank with enthusiasm, but without the smallest romanticism, military or otherwise. As Moreland would have said, it is just the way you look at things. We crossed the hall. Emmot, the Mess waiter, appeared from a doorway. The whole Bithel affair had greatly cheered him up. He looked positively a new man. It was hard to believe he had been sobbing like a child only a few weeks before.

  ‘You’re wanted on the phone, sir,’ he said, grinning, as if he and I had shared most of the fun of the Bithel incident, ‘your unit.’

  I went to the telephone in the Duty Officer’s room.

  ‘Jenkins here.’

  It was the Adjutant.

  ‘Hold on a moment,’ he said.

  I held on. At the other end of the line Maelgwyn-Jones began to talk to someone in the Orderly Room. I waited. He returned at last.

  ‘Who is that?’

  ‘Jenkins.’

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘You rang up for me.’

  ‘What was it? Oh, yes. Here’s the chit. Second-Lieutenant Jenkins. You will report to Divisional Headquarters, DAAG’s o
ffice, by 1700 hrs tomorrow, taking all your kit with you.’

  ‘Do you know what I’m to do there?’

  ‘No idea.’

  ‘For how long?’

  ‘No idea of that either.’

  ‘What’s the DAAG’s name?’

  ‘Also unknown. He’s a new appointment. Old Square-arse got bowler-hatted.’

  ‘How shall I get to Div HQ?’

  ‘There’s a truck going up tomorrow with some details for hospital treatment. I’ll tell it to pick you up at Castlemallock on the way. I expect you’ve heard about certain changes in your Company.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Strictly speaking, this instruction should have been issued by me through your Company Commander, but, to avoid confusion, I thought I’d tell you direct. There was another reason, too, why I wanted to speak personally. If the new DAAG is an approachable chap, find out about that Intelligence course I’m supposed to be going on. Also about those two officer reinforcements we’ve been promised. All right?’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘Report what I’ve just told you about yourself to the two officers concerned – Rowland and Idwal – right away. Tell them they’ll get it in writing tomorrow. All right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Maelgwyn-Jones hung up. Castlemallock was to be left behind. I heard the news without regret; although in the army – as in love – anxiety is an ever-present factor where change is concerned. I returned to Kedward and told him what was happening to me.

  ‘You’re leaving right away?’

  ‘Tomorrow.’