The others were doubtful that this would be granted. Probyn too held misgivings, but said he had no option but to try. It would soon be time to go and attend the captain’s bath. Folding the letter he marched away, rehearsing what he must say.
* * *
He was still pondering how to voice his request for leave some time later as he ordered Gideon and another black servant to take away the bath water and he himself helped the captain to dress. In the event it was Fitzroy who gave him the opportunity to broach the subject.
Indicating his own stack of letters and parcels, Captain Fitzroy asked idly, ‘Any news from home, Private Kilmaster?’
Probyn took a deep breath. ‘Yes, sir. Bad news, I’m afraid.’
Showing concern, Captain Fitzroy remembered that Kilmaster was from a mining family and, kept up to date with newspapers sent from home, exclaimed, ‘Ah! The coal strike is taking its toll I presume?’ He paused to allow his servant to expand.
‘In more ways than one, sir.’ Probyn outlined the situation in the mining community and of his father’s stroke, ending with the plaintive comment, ‘They don’t know how long he’ll survive.’
‘That is most unfortunate.’ The captain shook his head in woe. ‘You must extend my sympathies to your mother.’
‘Thank you, sir, but my mother’s dead.’ Probyn wanted his superior to know how vital it was that he be allowed home to see his only parent.
However, Captain Fitzroy did not immediately sense this, merely shaking his head and tutting, whilst proceeding with his dressing.
‘I was wondering, sir, if there’s any possibility of my being allowed home to visit my father, considering the gravity of his condition.’
The captain’s mildly stunned expression told him this was out of the question. ‘I commiserate with you entirely, Private Kilmaster, but in all seriousness you cannot expect me to grant such a request. It would take you the best part of a month to get there and a month to get back.’
‘I wouldn’t expect to receive pay, sir.’
‘I’m most gratified to hear it but your request is still beyond reason. I could not possibly spare you for so long. Besides, we may be needed to help quell this trouble in the north.’
Desperation made Probyn rash. ‘But you said yourself, sir, that you don’t really set much store by all this talk of war—’
‘Are you arguing with me, Private?’ The captain’s attitude completely changed.
‘No, sir! I meant no offence, but I’m so worried that my father might die before—’
‘If your father dies, then you must take it like a man, as must the rest of us. If the army were to grant leave to every bereaved infantryman we should soon be in a lamentable state. Now, I have given my verdict, let there be an end to it.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Knowing it was fruitless to continue, Probyn resumed his task of helping the captain to dress, handing over various accoutrements, performing each move with dignity though underneath his heart railed at the lack of compassion.
Fitzroy settled into a chair, extended his legs over the leopardskin rug and, after a few sips of whisky, reverted to his amiable mood. ‘Be a good chap, stop sulking and pass me that will you?’ He indicated a jigsaw sent from home by his mother who, aware of his fondness for such pastimes, despatched them regularly.
Quietly seething, Probyn set a table in front of the captain before going to fetch the jigsaw, then, in a small act of malevolence, deftly slipped his hand inside it and removed one of the pieces before handing it to the captain. ‘Will that be all, sir?’
‘For now, thank you, Private Kilmaster.’ Without looking at his servant, Fitzroy took the lid from the box and tipped its contents on to the table, thereby dismissing the other.
Going about his business in the room next door, Probyn racked his brain for a solution, for he must make an effort to see his father, find out the true severity of his plight and help him. He must. A wave of guilt swept over him for the way he had bestowed Captain Fitzroy with the mantle of surrogate father. What had Fitzroy ever really done for him? Yes, he had contributed much to his military education, but did he truly care? No. He had not made sacrifice for him, worried over him, could not love him like a real father.
A glance into the captain’s room saw Fitzroy concentrating over the jigsaw in total abandonment of his servant’s sad dilemma.
Never had Probyn committed an imprisonable offence, but he seriously contemplated it now. To stow away, go without permission, would jeopardize his entire career, perhaps even bring a charge of desertion, but at this desperate moment it seemed his only alternative.
‘Private Kilmaster, another whisky if you please!’
Jerked from his mutinous machinations, Probyn hurried to comply with the demand, at the same time abandoning his previous idea; however dire the situation he could not bring himself to risk a court martial.
The captain was well into his jigsaw. Replenishing the empty glass, his servant enjoyed a moment of vengeful pleasure, anticipating the irritation that one missing piece would cause. Damn him!
Over the following hour, as he cleaned the captain’s spurs and laid out his apparel for morning, Probyn rummaged his brain for a better answer, casting the occasional surreptitious glance to check on Fitzroy’s progress. Piece by piece the jigsaw took shape, until finally there were only half a dozen fragments left to insert.
His hand moving quickly and confidently now, the captain reached out triumphantly for the final piece then frowned and looked about him, peering to right and left, lifting the box to search beneath it, and even groping under his chair.
A smug grin twitched Probyn’s lips over this small act of revenge, though soon it was washed away again as he himself continued to hunt for a solution whilst the captain searched high and low for the missing piece of jigsaw, then, in a final act of frustration swiped the entire puzzle from the table and strode off to the officers’ mess.
Left to pick up the pieces from the leopardskin rug, a grim-faced Probyn came to the only possible conclusion. The thought was heartrending, made him feel physically ill, but much as he loved his regiment he could not stand idly by whilst the means to help his father was in his pocket. He must buy himself out.
10
The discovery that it would take the massive sum of eighteen pounds to purchase his discharge might have proved an insurmountable barrier to some, but was no obstacle to the determined Private Kilmaster. With his mind made up and sixteen pounds already saved he set about collecting the rest by selling the possessions he had acquired over the years, beginning with a copy of Treasure Island.
‘Rookie, you’re a reader, do you want to buy this?’
Lying supine on his bed, Rook cast a bird-like eye at the visitor’s offering. ‘Read it.’
‘There’s no law says you can’t read a book twice.’
‘What’s the point if you know the ending?’ Rook slapped at a mosquito.
‘What about you, Queenie?’
‘Never read a book in me life,’ came the proud reply.
A slightly exasperated Probyn addressed them en masse. ‘Anybody else want it – only two bob?’
Havron scoffed. ‘Two bob? I could get slewed for a week on that.’
‘How about a cleaning rod then?’ Throwing the book aside, Probyn started to display the spare pieces of kit he had accumulated.
‘Now you’re talking.’ Havron came over to inspect the items for sale.
Probyn continued to peddle, displaying Felix Lennon’s battered footwear. ‘Bumby, you’re the same size as me.’
Queen sensed a frantic edge to Probyn’s attempts at disposal. ‘Never thought I’d see you short o’ cash, Pa. Got a woman in trouble?’
‘No, I’ve got to buy meself out,’ said Probyn bluntly. Having gained their full attention, he explained the situation. ‘Fizzer’s refused to give me leave so I’ve no other option. Me father might be dead by now for all I know but I’ll never be able to live with meself if I don’t go and see.�
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There was a combined murmur of sympathy for their friend and exclamations of disgust for the hard-hearted captain.
‘You poor sod,’ uttered Bumby. Of all his comrades Kilmaster was the most attached to military life. ‘Will you rejoin later?’
‘Maybe,’ muttered Probyn. ‘I haven’t thought that far ahead, I just have to get home, quickly. I’ve got most of the money saved, I only need a couple of quid to make up the eighteen.’
Barnes’s big barn door of a face fell ajar. ‘You’ve got sixteen quid saved? Christ, you old miser!’
‘Never mind that!’ Bumby elbowed him out of the way and tried on the boots. ‘I’ll have these, Pa. How much?’
With various generosity to follow, Probyn very quickly found himself in possession of the required amount. He thanked them gruffly. ‘I appreciate it … and … well, I’ll be sorry to go but … well, you know …’
Rook clapped him on the back, looking embarrassed. Everyone else stood about looking similarly awkward.
Probyn manufactured a cheery farewell. ‘I’d better get back, the captain’ll be after my guts. Give my regards to Melody and Ingham when they come out of hospital.’
The mood altered yet again. ‘Ingham’s had it,’ Havron informed him. ‘Sarge told us last night.’
Probyn was shocked. ‘What about Mick?’ Despite having other things on his mind he was genuinely concerned.
The others shrugged. ‘He’s right poorly by all accounts,’ muttered Bumby.
After a thoughtful interlude, Probyn murmured, ‘Well, give him my regards if you see him.’ Then, to calls of good luck from his friends, he returned to the captain’s quarters to await his master.
At first, Captain Fitzroy took his servant’s announcement with no great seriousness, continuing his ablutions in preparation of an evening at the mess. ‘Purchase your discharge? I don’t think you’ve fully considered the extent of what that entails, Private Kilmaster.’
‘I know it costs eighteen pounds, sir, and I have that amount.’ He revealed his savings.
At this confident response Fitzroy became annoyed, snatching the towel from his servant and mopping irately at his face. ‘And what of the inconvenience you will cause to others?’
Probyn looked baffled.
‘Dammit, man, I shall have to train a new servant!’ Fitzroy hurled the towel back.
Probyn caught it, trying to remain calm. ‘I’m very sorry, sir, but I have to see how my father is and if I’m refused leave—’
‘Then you’ll petulantly take it upon yourself to go!’
‘It gives me no enjoyment, sir.’ Probyn’s face was grim. ‘I love the army. It’s my life. But I have a duty to go.’
‘You have a duty to your regiment, you swore an oath of allegiance! It obviously meant nothing.’ Deliberately turning his back on the young infantryman, the captain leaned over a table drumming his fingers upon it.
‘I beg your pardon, sir, it meant everything. I’d gladly give my life if it were asked of me, but I could never hold my head up again if I failed my own father.’
The captain tried a different tack. ‘Kilmaster, I regard you as one of my most trustworthy soldiers. The major, who shares my view, will be astounded when I inform him of your decision to waste over two years of training. Are you absolutely certain you wish to throw it all away?’
‘I’m compelled by circumstance to do it, sir.’
‘You stubborn—!’ After much snorting, the captain finally recognized that his valet was not to be moved. ‘Very well, I shall put your application forward.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Probyn tried to sound grateful. ‘Could you say how long it will be before—’
‘I shall speak to the major this evening. The matter is obviously of great urgency to you.’ Suddenly abandoning his terse manner, Captain Fitzroy looked Probyn full in the face, his eyes commiserating. ‘I do understand your dilemma, Private Kilmaster, I really do, but might I just lay this scenario before you: what if after all your expenditure, your sacrifice, you arrive home to find that your father has already passed away? It will all have been for nothing.’
Did the man think him incapable of such coherence, wondered Probyn? ‘That has been a worry to me, sir. It will be sad, but at least I can take solace that I made the effort.’
Defeated, the captain gave a final nod. ‘Very well, I will do what I can.’
* * *
His application travelling up the chain of command, Probyn found himself the next day in front of the major, the latter making even more effort than Captain Fitzroy to try and talk him out of it. Private Kilmaster refused to budge.
Back in the captain’s office later in the day, Probyn was informed of the outcome by Fitzroy. ‘Now, Private Kilmaster, I must inform you at once that your request to purchase your discharge has been denied.’
Probyn started. ‘But it’s my fundamental right, sir!’
Captain Fitzroy looked stern. ‘Before you get yourself into deeper water, Kilmaster, let me say that the major has submitted your request to HQ and spoken on your behalf. Neither of us has any wish to waste the two and a half years that has been spent on turning you into a soldier. A good soldier, all things considered. Therefore, presented with the gravity of the situation, and though he takes a very dim view of being blackmailed into such a position, the colonel has granted permission for you to proceed to England and attend your father’s bedside.’
Probyn’s look of outrage turned to astonishment. He was unable to speak.
‘Naturally it will be without pay,’ was the clipped addition. ‘You will stay only until there is a return voyage, which means that after a journey of twenty-eight days you will have approximately one week on English soil, but that should be sufficient to your needs.’
Probyn breathed a sigh of relief and gratitude. ‘Oh, it will, sir! I just need to see him in case – well it might be the last time. I can’t thank you enough, sir.’
‘I shall be sorry to lose you as a valet, but you do understand that I cannot hold the position open.’
‘I fully understand, sir, and thank you again. I’ve enjoyed serving you.’ With a curt nod the captain provided written authorization for him to travel and told him to report to the depot at Pontefract where he would be given further instruction concerning his return to South Africa. ‘And may I also offer a last piece of advice. If you intend to make a life in the army, you must learn the meaning of commitment.’
‘Yes, sir,’ came the quiet reply.
Before dismissing him, Captain Fitzroy made the unexpected move of shaking his hand. ‘Good luck, Private Kilmaster. I hope you will find that your father’s situation is not too dire.’
‘Thank you, sir!’ Stamping to attention, Probyn issued a last salute.
His exit from the office marked a sorry end to an enjoyable association.
* * *
The voyage home was even worse than he had anticipated, the dawning of each tedious day bringing fresh fear that he would arrive too late. July became August, the weather becoming gradually cooler. It was September before he eventually arrived.
Even once on English soil his torment was not over for he was faced with a long train excursion from the coast, each hour sucking him further into desperation. The change in climate was even more depressing. Whilst other inhabitants had not yet reached for winter coats he himself shivered to keep warm.
To relieve his journey he bought a wad of newspapers, catching up with news of the national coal strike, but hard print could not convey the whole story and he was unprepared for the great distress that met him on his arrival hours later at Pontefract. Having been ordered to report to the depot before anything else, this is what he did, on his way there witnessing many signs of deprivation. Miners and their families were openly begging on the streets. With plenty of funds at his disposal he made several acts of generosity, but the entreaties became so frequent that he exhausted all his loose change and was left with only his precious banknotes and two so
vereigns and was forced to tell them he had no more. Some of them became threatening then, called him names, even spat on his uniform. Shocked and upset, fearing that he would be robbed, he quickened his pace to the garrison, anxious to escape the spirit of bad feeling which pervaded the whole town.
Safe inside the depot he was informed of the enormity of the problem. Starvation was rife amongst the miners. Soup kitchens had been set up and efforts made to raise funds but that would only solve the immediate hunger. The hardship was creeping insidiously to other workers; the shops from whom the miners normally bought their supplies; the liquorice manufactories, the staple trade of the town, would soon be forced into idleness unless a supply of coal was forthcoming; the flood of degradation seeped ever wider.
Having acted out his orders and equipped with the date of his sailing in a week’s time, Probyn was now free to execute the real reason for his coming here. In the hope of getting to his destination more swiftly, he returned to the railway station, treading warily to avoid beggars. However, after waiting what seemed like an age for a train, his healthy sunburned face a stark contrast to the mawkish creatures who glared contemptuously at his uniform, he decided it would be quicker on foot. Hurrying from the station, he struck out for Ralph Royd.
He arrived there to an atmosphere of gloom and general ill-feeling. The family cottage held no more welcome, one of its windows broken and boarded over. His stepmother, though, made amends for all this, her face lighting up with a warm smile as she answered his tentative tap.
‘Oh, Probe, my goodness I thought it was a Red Indian come to scalp me! My, I can hardly recognize you! Come in, come in, your father’ll be that glad to see you!’
Whipping off his glengarry, Probyn threw back his head and gave a cry of relief, all the pent-up anxiety rushing forth in his exclamation. ‘He’s still here then? Oh, I can’t tell you … I thought … by, I’m that relieved!’ Clamping the glengarry over his mouth, he followed his stepmother inside, unable for the moment to say more for fear of shedding tears.
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