Probyn looked contrite. ‘Yes, I was aware, sir, and I regret my laxity.’
‘Could you recall the location of the cottage to which you were taken?’
‘No sir.’ This too was honest. ‘It was just somewhere amongst those Slieve Bloom mountains, but I’d recognize those involved if I saw them again.’
After further stringent interrogation by the major, they were told that due to their ordeal they would escape any punishment for straying out of bounds. Even though it was assumed that the culprits would probably be long gone by now a warrant was to be put out for their arrest, and Melody and Kilmaster might be required to give evidence.
Only then were the exhausted pair allowed to return to their barrack room for some rest, although there was not much of the latter to be had, their comrades refusing to let go of the subject and teasing them over the whereabouts of their medals.
Weary as he was, Probyn dismissed any idea of getting some sleep and instead began to clean his kit, but found he had run out of brass polish.
Bumby lent him some and came to sit on the cot beside his, watching him work. ‘Eh, Melody tells us this Aunt Kit of yours is a bit of a goer.’
Probyn’s mouth fell open. He stopped polishing and immediately looked at Mick who a moment ago had been laughing but now turned sheepish.
‘You bloody arse, Melody, that was private!’
Mick wailed his innocence. ‘But ye told me!’
‘In confidence!’ Such was the vehemence of Probyn’s expression that Bumby immediately made himself scarce; others too looked uncomfortable.
‘How was I to know?’ beseeched Mick. ‘I’m sorry but ye should’ve said it was a secret!’
‘I didn’t think you were that much of a half-wit!’ Both furious and guilty with himself for betraying Kit who had been so good to him, Probyn warned himself not to make the same mistake again, should have trusted his original judgement of Melody who was faithless and shallow. They could never be true friends. ‘I’ll bet you haven’t told them your own little secret!’
At once their roommates were eager to interpret the look of horror that spread over Mick’s face and demanded details.
‘He’s got clap!’ Spite was a rare visitor, but Probyn felt extremely let down.
With only himself to blame, Mick donned a fatalistic expression, whilst others roared with laughter and told him that even a hero could expect to be put on a charge for this self-inflicted wound. Glancing over at Probyn he saw that the latter had set to polishing furiously, and wondered bemusedly how Pa could have been so malicious.
The erstwhile heroes were to say little to each other for the rest of the day which was to end on an even sourer note when it was announced that everyone was confined to barracks until the risk of further ambush was deemed to be over.
* * *
After almost a week, Probyn had just begun to think the episode was closed, that his abductors had answered his prayers and vanished, when Corporal Wedlock singled him out.
‘Kilmaster, Lieutenant Fitzroy’s office now!’
Alarm prickled his scalp. Checking his appearance, he hurriedly answered the summons.
But when he arrived in the office, Lieutenant Fitzroy seemed amiable enough. ‘At ease, Private Kilmaster. You must be wondering whether we’ve apprehended those fellows …’
Probyn held his breath.
‘I’m afraid to say it looks as if they’re long gone.’
Probyn tried not to sound relieved. ‘Sorry I couldn’t be of more help, sir.’
‘Never mind, you conducted yourself well, but that’s not the reason why I wish to speak to you, or rather it is indirectly. I’m instructed to extend an invitation to tea tomorrow with a Mr and Mrs O’Neil.’
Probyn gaped. ‘To me, sir?’ Glancing at the corporal he observed a similar expression of surprise, though Wedlock’s rapidly turned to disgust.
‘To you, Private Kilmaster and the Major and myself and Private Melody – but the less said about him the better. Mr O’Neil is a very important member of the community. Upon learning of the harm inflicted upon you and Private Melody by local men he was appalled and has made this gesture as an act of goodwill in order that our soldiers may continue to enjoy the same cordial relations we have always held with the people of Birr. May I take it that you accept his kind invitation?’
Probyn replied simply. ‘Yes, sir.’
There seemed to be insufficient gratitude in his manner for the lieutenant. ‘I hope you understand that this is a highly unusual occurrence, Private Kilmaster, and a great honour?’
‘Oh yes indeed, sir!’
‘Good!’ After his sharp reminder Lieutenant Fitzroy became more affable. ‘Now, the major fully appreciates that such sophistication is beyond the realms of your experience; he has therefore asked me to instruct you on the way to behave. I would not expect you to let the regiment down intentionally but of course there are social nuances of which you will be totally ignorant. Corporal Wedlock did you organize that tray of tea?’
‘Yes sir, it’s a-waiting!’ Teeth set in a disapproving grid, Wedlock marched stiff-legged to the door.
Unsure what was expected of him, Probyn remained mute as the corporal summoned in a private with a tea tray bearing cups and saucers. It soon became evident that this was to be a rehearsal, with the lieutenant showing him the correct way to hold his cup and saucer and how to respond to any of his host’s questions. Stunned by the unusual social occurrence, Probyn was quite glad of any tips, though in fact he had already been taught very well by his mother. What was most enjoyable about this, though, was the look on Wedlock’s face as he was forced to stand there without benefit of cup whilst his minion took refreshment with the lieutenant. Why, he was almost foaming at the mouth.
After fifteen minutes or so, thankful that there had been no slurping of the tea, Lieutenant Fitzroy congratulated his protégé on having grasped this so quickly and without further ado told Kilmaster at what time to present himself outside the major’s office on the morrow.
Probyn returned to his barrack room, answering his comrades’ queries truthfully but with such nonchalance that gave the impression he was fully accustomed to dining with gentry and, thus, was teased unmercifully for hours afterwards.
* * *
There was no such nonchalance the following afternoon. Seated with the major and lieutenant in the carriage that had been sent to collect them, he felt much more intimidated than at his rehearsal, and even more so upon ascending the wide stone staircase of the Georgian mansion, passing beyond its gracious portico with its spider’s web fanlight, into massive gentrified rooms smelling of polish. And yet within moments the overwhelming hospitality of his host and hostess and their three maidenly daughters and two adolescent sons, all extremely courteous and friendly, had served to put him at ease.
‘We were most upset to hear that your friend is indisposed and cannot join us.’ Mrs O’Neil, an Irish version of his Aunt Kit but substantially smaller and quieter, directed her sympathies to Probyn now that her guests were seated in the drawing room. ‘I did so wish to make amends for the terrible ordeal you both suffered. And how is the poor boy coping with his malady?’
Just beginning to relax, Probyn stiffened and looked to his superiors for assistance. The major jumped in smartly. ‘Private Melody is recovering well, ma’am. We hope to have him back with us in a few weeks.’
‘Bronchitis has such debilitating effects,’ Mrs O’Neil showed genuine compassion. ‘I do hope you will extend our good wishes to the young man.’
The major said he was sure Lieutenant Fitzroy would oblige.
‘I will, ma’am,’ smiled Fitzroy.
‘Well now, shall we have tea?’ A beaming Mrs O’Neil gestured for one of her daughters to ring for the maid who duly arrived with a companion, both laden with tasty looking refreshments.
Whilst this was being served, the conversation was maintained by Mr O’Neil, a handsome, tweedy man with a red face and an avuncular manner, w
ho asked Probyn if he enjoyed any sport.
‘I play in the rugby team, sir.’
‘Ah really? And have you enjoyed our local sport yet?’ enquired his host.
‘Mr O’Neil refers to hurling,’ the major explained.
Probyn confessed to his ignorance but showed great interest and was given a short description of the game, Mr O’Neil proposing that Probyn and his fellow soldiers take it up and thereby enjoy a friendly match with the local team.
During tea, with Probyn conducting himself admirably, the younger O’Neils joined in the solicitation of Private Kilmaster, the boys seeking details of his abduction, which was quickly hushed up by their mother, the girls wanting to know if he had any sisters and what were their names. Despite the difference in status it was all very reminiscent of home, or at least of home in the old days, and not being of a shy nature, and their questions being in no way impertinent, he warmed towards his interrogators, even relaxing enough to entertain them with a joke.
At the end of the afternoon Probyn could honestly state that he had thoroughly enjoyed himself. Both his host and hostess had been genuinely warm and interested in all he had had to say, which had not been up to much at all, but had been delivered with honesty and politeness and his hosts had responded in kind. In no way had it been some artificial undertaking of appeasement as, prior to arrival, he had feared.
‘Thank you for having me, sir, ma’am,’ said Probyn, as he had been taught to by his mother and, making ready to leave with his superiors, decided a compliment would not be out of order. ‘I hope you won’t think me impertinent when I say that was the best chocolate cake I’ve ever tasted.’
Both Mr and Mrs O’Neil laughed at such simple gratitude. ‘Oh, then you must take some with you, Private Kilmaster!’ said his hostess and immediately instructed one of her daughters to wrap some cakes in a napkin and give them to their guest. ‘You have a splendid chap there, Major,’ complimented Mr O’Neil as the soldiers departed.
The major obviously agreed, lauding Kilmaster’s performance as they made their return to barracks.
Lieutenant Fitzroy too was delighted that the youngster had behaved so impeccably. ‘You’re a sterling good fellow, Private Kilmaster!’ he congratulated Probyn when they were back in his office and the major had gone. ‘I knew you wouldn’t let me down.’
Thriving on such compliment, Probyn returned warm reply. ‘Thank you, sir, it was an honour.’
‘Stand easy.’ Fitzroy sat down.
‘Thank you sir.’ It was hard to sustain military bearing when holding onto a bundle of cakes. ‘And may I say, sir, I really enjoyed myself.’
The lieutenant assumed a smile of admonishment which was not entirely without substance. ‘Yes, I noticed the warmth of your behaviour towards the Misses O’Neil! I have to warn you that you must not expect anything to come of it.’
Probyn was most offended, all previous compliment annihilated by this needless remark. To him the girls were asexual, holding not the slightest allure save to remind him of his sisters. How could the lieutenant praise him in one breath and in the next damn him with such low regard?
The answer came, its tone shrewd. ‘I’m fully aware of how fond you are of the ladies, Private Kilmaster, which was how you came to be in the mess that started all this, if my memory does not desert me.’
Subdued by this truism, Probyn could only answer, ‘Yes, sir.’ Trained not to show emotion, his annoyance remained deep within.
‘Apart from that your conduct was beyond reproach.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Expecting to be dismissed now, Probyn came to attention again.
But Lieutenant Fitzroy leaned back in his chair, seemingly in no rush to part company with his protege. ‘At ease, at ease. So, tell me, what does the army hold for Private Kilmaster?’
Preoccupied by the napkin full of cakes and a bladder that was filled to explosion point from copious tea at the O’Neils’, Probyn looked bewildered.
‘To what rank do you aspire?’
‘Oh! I’d like to be sergeant-major, sir.’
‘Then you’d better maintain an unblemished record,’ advised Fitzroy. ‘There are one or two men taking corporal’s exam next week, why not join them?’
Forgetting all about his bladder, Probyn brightened. ‘If you think I’m up to it, sir.’
‘I’d hardly have made the suggestion if I did not.’ Abruptly the lieutenant came out of his relaxed pose and looked at his watch. ‘Now you’d better be running along, and once again, congratulations on this afternoon’s behaviour. You’re a credit to the platoon.’
His mood rejuvenated, Probyn snapped to attention, performed an enthusiastic salute and thence departed, eager to establish himself on that first rung of the ladder.
* * *
Acting on the lieutenant’s recommendation, Private Kilmaster was quick to add his name to those taking the corporal’s exam. This done, it was back to a daily round of drill and musketry and marching, that brief spell of gentility a thing of the past, a lovely cameo to be brought out and looked at during those punishing hours, but never to be enjoyed again.
It was of no great importance. He was living the life he had chosen, a hard but rewarding life, and those outside the garrison were of little interest to him – although he had been pleasantly surprised, now that he was allowed out and about again, by the number of folk who had extended their apologies for what had happened to him, shopkeepers murmuring their regrets in that quiet Irish way of theirs, hoping it had not coloured his judgement of the people of Birr. And indeed it had not, far from it, for apart from that one incident, everyone he encountered was exceedingly kind and he had come to respect the majority for what they were: an hospitable and deeply religious people … if occasionally given to unpredictable violence.
Save for those fleeting encounters in the street with apologetic housewives, he stayed well away from the womenfolk. It was difficult sometimes, being without female company, but he had learned his lesson and would suppress his appetites for safer shores, preferring to focus all energy on his imminent improvement in rank.
He was to pass the exam quite effortlessly, and not wanting to appear boastful, kept it to himself for a few days before his roommates found out. Havron was miffed of course.
‘Must be a bloody easy exam then,’ he belittled Probyn’s achievement.
‘Why don’t you take it then, big gob?’ challenged Bumby, others adding their support for Kilmaster.
Finding himself a lone objector, Havron was forced to recant, though did not go so far as to offer congratulations with the rest of the platoon, most of whom seemed genuinely pleased.
It was they who told Melody of Kilmaster’s achievement when he finally came out of hospital after three week’s duration, for Probyn had not spoken to him since his treacherous disclosure and showed no sign of wanting to do so now.
Mick extended a hesitant hand. ‘Congratulations, Pa.’
Probyn’s blue-grey eyes held him sternly.
The hand remained outstretched. ‘I’m no longer contagious.’
‘You’re still a rat.’ But Probyn finally breached the gap with a handshake and the rift was on its way to being healed.
‘I’m sorry.’ Mick hung his head. ‘I never meant—’
‘All right, all right.’ Probyn swiftly dismissed the episode. ‘So, what did they do to you, then?’
‘Ye don’t want to know!’ But Mick told him anyway, horrifying him and others with his gruesome descriptions. ‘Anyhow, I’m all cleared up now and that’s the way ’tis going to stay. No more women for Michael.
Now, tell me what this corporal’s exam was like, for I might want to do it myself.’
There were sniggers from Queen and Bumby. ‘You?’
‘If your man here can do it so can I!’ Mick viewed the promotion rather differently to his friend: as a means of escaping fatigues.
Aware that this was not an empty boast, for he knew from Melody’s reading matter that he was bri
ghter than might be construed from his foolish behaviour, Probyn decided there and then to go and apply for the post of corporal. It would not do for Melody to gain advancement before him. Telling Mick, ‘I’ll give you the details later, I’ve just got to visit the lat,’ on this pretext he hurried from the room.
Having assumed that the paper qualification made his quest straightforward, he was not anticipating any difficulty when he approached Corporal Wedlock, and was therefore utterly stunned to receive a snub.
‘Just ’cause you once quaffed tea with the major and them gentrified paddies don’t get too big for your boots,’ sneered Wedlock. ‘You’ll have to get a few years in before they give you a stripe.’
Assuming he had been misunderstood, Probyn explained, ‘But I passed the exam, Corp.’
Wedlock was unmoved. ‘You can pass twenty exams and paint your arse blue but you’re not up to being a corporal’s snot rag.’
A flicker of panic. ‘But Lieutenant Fitzroy told me—’
‘And I’m telling you,’ feathers fluffed, the bantam leaned towards him, glaring, ‘that it’s two years at least in the ranks. Now hop it!’
Furious and impotent at Wedlock’s cavalier dictate, Probyn strode back to his barrack room trying to maintain his self-discipline. It would have been very easy to bang about and throw his kit all over the place but instead he sat down and immediately began to polish his boots, rubbing and buffing at the leather for all he was worth though it had no need of improvement, being already gleaming.
However, living so intimately for so many months, everyone recognized this needless polishing.
‘Oh dear, somebody’s upset him,’ observed Bumby. ‘What’s up, Pa?’
‘Nothing!’ Probyn maintained his grim-faced task, his arm working like a beam engine. Then abruptly he stopped. ‘If you must know I’ve just been refused my stripes and told I have to wait two flaming years!’
Mick sympathized, but immediately ruined it with a note of self-interest. ‘Jesus, I’m glad ye told me before I took the exam. No point wasting me time now.’
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