‘We ’eard about it at the time in the ‘Oly Land. Was it reelly as quick as all that?’ said Anthony.
‘Quicker! Look ‘ere! The motorbike dropped in on us about four pip-emma. After that, we tried to get orders o’ some kind or other, but nothin’ came through excep’ that all available transport was in use and not likely to be released. That didn’t ‘elp us any. About nine o’clock comes along a young brass ‘at in brown gloves. We was quite a surprise to ‘im. ’E said they were evacuating the area and we’d better shift. “Where to?” says ‘Ammick, rather short.
‘“Oh, somewhere Amiens way,” he says. “Not that I’d guarantee Amiens for any length o’ time; but Amiens might do to begin with.” I’m giving you the very words. Then ’e goes off swingin’ ‘is brown gloves, and ‘Ammick sends for Gander and orders ’im to march the men through Amiens to Dieppe; book thence to New’aven, take up positions be’ind Seaford, an’ carry on the war. Gander said ‘e’d see ’im damned first. ‘Ammick says ‘e’d see ’im court-martialled after. Gander says what ’e meant to say was that the men ’ud see all an’ sundry damned before they went into Amiens with their gunsights wrapped up in their puttees. ‘Ammick says ’e ’adn’t said a word about puttees, an’ carryin’ off the gunsights was purely optional. “Well, anyhow,” says Gander, “puttees or drawers, they ain’t goin’ to shift a step unless you lead the procession.”
‘“Mutinous ounds,” says ‘Ammick. “But we live in a democratic age. D’you suppose they’d object to kindly diggin’ ’emselves in a bit?” “Not at all,” says Gander. “The BSM’s kept ’em at it like terriers for the last three hours.” “That bein’ so,” says ‘Ammick, “Macklin’ll now fetch us small glasses o’ port.” Then Mosse comes in – he could smell port a mile off – an’ he submits we’d only add to the congestion in Amiens if we took our crowd there, whereas, if we lay doggo where we was, Jerry might miss us, though he didn’t seem to be missin’ much that evenin’.
‘The ‘ole country was pretty noisy, an’ our dumps we’d lit ourselves flarin’ heavens-high as far as you could see. Lyin’ doggo was our best chance. I believe we might ha’ pulled it off, if we’d been left alone, but along towards midnight – there was some small stuff swishin’ about, but nothin’ particular – a nice little bald-headed old gentleman in uniform pushes into the dug-out wipin’ his glasses an’ sayin’ ’e was thinkin’ o’ formin’ a defensive flank on our left with ‘is battalion which ‘ad just come up. ‘Ammick says ’e wouldn’t form much if ’e was ‘im. “Oh, don’t say that,” says the old gentleman, very shocked. “One must support the guns, mustn’t one?” ‘Ammick says we was refittin’ an’ about as effective, just then, as a public lav’tory. “Go into Amiens,” he says, “an’ defend ’em there.” “Oh no,” says the old gentleman, “me an’ my laddies must make a defensive flank for you,” an’ he flips out of the dug-out like a performin’ bullfinch, chirruppin’ for his “laddies”. Gawd in ‘Eaven knows what sort o’ push they was – little boys mostly – but they ‘ung on to ‘is coat-tails like a Sunday-school treat, an’ we ’eard ’em muckin’ about in the open for a bit. Then a pretty tight barrage was slapped down for ten minutes, an’ ‘Ammick thought the laddies had copped it already, “it’ll be our turn next,” says Mosse. “There’s been a covey o’ Gothas messin’ about for the last ‘alf-hour-lookin’ for the Railway Shops, I expect. They’re just as likely to take us.” “Arisin’ out o’ that,” says ‘Ammick, “one of ’em sounds pretty low down now. We’re for it, me learned colleagues!” “Jesus!” says Gander, “I believe you’re right, sir.” And that was the last word I ’eard on the matter.’
‘Did they cop you then?’ said Anthony.
‘They did. I expect Mosse was right, an’ they took us for the Railway Shops. When I come to, I was lyin’ outside the cuttin’, which was pretty well filled up. The Reverend Collins was all right; but Lady Catherine and the General was past prayin’ for. I lay there, takin’ it in, till I felt cold an’ I looked at meself. Otherwise, ‘I ’adn’t much on excep’ me boots. So I got up an’ walked about to keep warm. Then I saw somethin’ like a mushroom in the moonlight. It was the nice old gentleman’s bald ‘ead. I patted it. ’im and ‘is laddies ad copped it right enough. Some battalion run out in a ‘urry from England, I suppose. They ’adn’t even begun to dig in – pore little perishers! I dressed myself off ’em there, an’ topped off with a British warm. Then I went back to the cuttin’ an’ some one says to me: “Dig, you ox, dig! Gander’s under.” So I ‘elped shift things till I threw up blood an’ bile mixed. Then I dropped, an’ they brought Gander out – dead – an’ laid ’im next me. ‘Ammick ‘ad gone too – fair tore in ‘alf, the BSM said; but the funny thing was he talked quite a lot before ’e died, an’ nothin’ to ’im below ‘is stummick, they told me. Mosse we never found. ‘E’d been standing by Lady Catherine. She’d up-ended an’ gone back on ’em, with ‘alf the cuttin’ atop of ‘er, by the look of things.’
‘And what come to Macklin?’ said Anthony.
‘Dunno…’E was with ‘Ammick. I expect I must ha’ been blown clear of all by the first bomb; for I was the on’y Janeite left. We lost about half our crowd, either under, or after we’d got ’em out. The BSM went off ‘is rocker when mornin’ came, an’ he ran about from one to another sayin’: “That was a good push! That was a great crowd! Did ye ever know any push to touch ’em?” an’ then ‘e’d cry. So what was left of us made off for ourselves, an’ I came across a lorry, pretty full, but they took me in.’
‘Ah!’ said Anthony with pride. ‘“They all take a taxi when it’s rainin’.” Ever ’eard that song?’
‘They went a long way back. Then ‘I walked a bit, an’ there was a hospital-train fillin’ up, an’ one of the sisters – a grey-headed one-ran at me wavin’ ’erred ‘ands an’ sayin’ there wasn’t room for a louse in it. I was past carin’. But she went on talkin’ and talkin’ about the war, an’ her pa in Ladbroke Grove, an’ ‘ow strange for ’erat ’ertime of life to be doin’ this work with a lot o’ men, an’ next war, ‘ow the nurses ’ud ‘ave to wear khaki breeches on account o’ the mud, like the Land Girls; an’ that reminded ‘er, she’d boil me an egg if she could lay ‘ands on one, for she’d run a chicken-farm once. You never ’eard anythin’ like it – outside o’ Jane. It set me off laughin’ again. Then a woman with a nose an’ teeth on ‘er, marched up. “What’s all this?” she says. “What do you want?” “Nothing,” I says, “only make Miss Bates, there, stop talkin’ or I’ll die.” “Miss Bates?” she says. “What in ‘Eaven’s name makes you call ’erthat?” “Because she is,” I says. “D’you know what you’re sayin’?” she says, an’ slings her bony arm round me to get me off the ground. “Course I do,” I says, “an’ if you knew Jane you’d know too.” “That’s enough,” says she. “You’re comin’ on this train if I have to kill a brigadier for you,” an’ she an’ an ord’ly fair hove me into the train, on to a stretcher close to the cookers. That beef-tea went down well! Then she shook ‘ands with me an’ said I’d hit off Sister Molyneux in one, an’ then she pinched me an extra blanket. It was ’erown ‘ospital pretty much. I expect she was the Lady Catherine de Bourgh of the area. Well, an’ so, to cut a long story short, nothing further transpired.’
“Adn’t you ‘ad enough by then?’ asked Anthony.
‘I expect so. Otherwise, if the old Circus ‘ad been carryin’ on, I might ‘ave ‘ad another turn with ’em before Armistice. Our BSM was right. There never was a ‘appier push. ‘Ammick an’ Mosse an’ Gander an’ the BSM an’ that pore little Macklin man makin’ an’ passin’ an’ raisin’ me an’ gettin’ me on to the ‘ospital train after ’e was dead, all for a couple of Bradburys. I lie awake nights still, reviewing matters. There never was a push to touch ours – never!’
Anthony handed me back the Secretary’s Jewel resplendent.
‘Ah,’ said he. ‘No denyin’ that Jane business was more useful to you than the Roman Eagles or the
Star an’ Garter. Pity there wasn’t any of you Janeites in the ‘Oly Land. I never come across ’em.’
‘Well, as pore Macklin said, it’s a very select Society, an’ you’ve got to be a Janeite in your ’eart, or you won’t have any success. an’ yet he made me a Janeite. I read all her six books now for pleasure ‘tween times in the shop; an’ it brings it all back – down to the smell of the glue-paint on the screens. You take it from me, Brethren, there’s no one to touch Jane when you’re in a tight place. Gawd bless ‘er, whoever she was.’
Worshipful Brother Burges, from the floor of the Lodge, called us all from Labour to Refreshment. Humberstall hove himself up – so very a cart-horse of a man one almost expected to hear the harness creak on his back – and descended the steps.
He said he could not stay for tea because he had promised his mother to come home for it, and she would most probably be waiting for him now at the Lodge door.
‘One or other of ’em always comes for ‘im. He’s apt to miss ‘is gears sometimes,’ Anthony explained to me, as we followed.
‘Goes on a bust, d’you mean?’
“Im! He’s no more touched liquor than ’e ’as women since ’e was born. No, ‘e’s liable to a sort o’ quiet fits like. They came on after the dump blew up at Eatables. But for them, ‘e’d ha’ been battery sergeant-major.’
‘Oh! I said. ‘I couldn’t make out why he took on as mess-waiter when he got back to his guns. That explains things a bit.’
“Is sister told me the dump goin’ up knocked all ‘is gunnery instruction clean out of ‘im. The only thing ’e stuck to was to get back to ‘is old crowd. Gawd knows ‘ow ’e worked it, but ’e did. He fair deserted out of England to ’em, she says; an’ when they saw the state ’e was in, they ’adn’t the ’eart to send ’im back or into ‘ospital. They kep’ ’im for a mascot, as you might say. That’s all dead true. ‘Is sister told me so. But I can’t guarantee that Janeite business, excep’ ’e never told a lie since ’e was six. ‘Is sister told me so. What do you think?’
‘He isn’t likely to have made it up out of his own head,’ I replied.
‘But people don’t get so crazy-fond o’ books as all that, do they? ‘E’s made ‘is sister try to read ’em. She’d do anythin’ to please him. But, as I keep tellin’ ‘er, so’d ‘is mother. D’you ‘appen to know anything about Jane?’
‘I believe Jane was a bit of a matchmaker in a quiet way when she was alive, and I know all her books are full of match-making,’ I said. ‘You’d better look out.’
‘Oh, that’s as good as settled,’ Anthony replied, blushing.
JANE’S MARRIAGE
Jane went to Paradise:
That was only fair.
Good Sir Walter followed her,
And armed her up the stair.
Henry and Tobias,
And Miguel of Spain
Stood with Shakespeare at the top
To welcome Jane.
Then the Three Archangels
Offered out of hand
Anything in Heaven’s gift
That she might command.
Azrael’s eyes upon her,
Raphael’s wings above,
Michael’s sword against her heart,
Jane said: ‘Love.’
Instantly the under
standing Seraphim
Laid their fingers on their lips
And went to look for him.
Stole across the Zodiac,
Harnessed Charles’s Wain,
And whispered round the Nebulae:
‘Who loved Jane?’
In a private limbo
Where none had thought to look,
Sat a Hampshire gentleman
Reading of a book.
It was called Persuasion,
And it told the plain
Story of the love between
Him and Jane.
He heard the question
Circle Heaven through-
Closed the book and answered:
‘I did – and do!’
Quietly and speedily
(As Captain Wentworth moved)
Entered into Paradise
The man Jane loved!
*‘Get out, you dog.’
The Bull that Thought
WESTWARD from a town by the Mouths of the Rhône, runs a road so mathematically straight, so barometrically level, that it ranks among the world’s measured miles and motorists use it for records.
I had attacked the distance several times, but always with a Mistral blowing, or the unchancy cattle of those parts on the move. But once, running from the East, into a high-piled, almost Egyptian sunset, there came a night which it would have been sin to have wasted. It was warm with the breath of summer in advance; moonlit till the shadow of every rounded pebble and pointed cypress windbreak lay solid on that vast flat-floored waste; and my Mr Leggatt, who had slipped out to make sure, reported that the road surface was unblemished.
‘Now,’ he suggested, ‘we might see what she’ll do under strict road conditions. She’s been pullin’ like the Blue de Luxe all day. Unless I’m all off, it’s her night out.’
We arranged the trial for after dinner – thirty kilometres as near as might be; and twenty-two of them without even a level crossing.
There sat beside me at table d’hôte an elderly, bearded Frenchman wearing the rosette of by no means the lowest grade of the Legion of Honour, who had arrived in a talkative Citroën. I gatheied that he had spent much of his life in the French Colonial Service in Annam and Tonquin. When the war came, his years barring him from the front line, he had supervised Chinese wood-cutters who, with axe and dynamite, deforested the centre of France for trench-props. He said my chauffeur had told him that I contemplated an experiment. He was interested in cars – had admired mine – would, in short, be greatly indebted to me if I permitted him to assist as an observer. One could not well refuse; and, knowing my Mr Leggatt, it occurred to me there might also be a bet in the background
While he went to get his coat, I asked the proprietor his name. ‘Voiron – Monsieur André Voiron,’ was the reply. ‘And his business?’ ‘Mon Dieu! He is Voiron! He is all those things, there!’ The proprietor waved his hands at brilliant advertisements on the dining-room walls, which declared that Voiron Frères dealt in wines, agricultural implements, chemical manures, provisions and produce throughout that part of the globe.
He said little for the first five minutes of our trip, and nothing at all for the next ten – it being, as Leggatt had guessed, Esmeralda’s night out. But, when her indicator climbed to a certain figure and held there for three blinding kilometres, he expressed himself satisfied, and proposed to me that we should celebrate the event at the hotel. ‘I keep yonder,’ said he, ‘a wine on which I should value your opinion.’
On our return, he disappeared for a few minutes, and I heard him rumbling in a cellar. The proprietor presently invited me to the dining-room, where, beneath one frugal light, a table had been set with local dishes of renown. There was too, a bottle beyond most known sizes, marked black on red, with a date. Monsieur Voiron opened it, and we drank to the health of my car. The velvety, perfumed liquor, between fawn and topaz, neither too sweet nor too dry, creamed in its generous glass. But I knew no wine composed of the whispers of angels’ wings, the breath of Eden and the foam and pulse of Youth renewed. So I asked what it might be.
‘It is champagne,’ he said gravely.
‘Then what have I been drinking all my life?’
‘If you were lucky, before the war, and paid thirty shillings a bottle, it is possible you may have drunk one of our better-class tisanes.’
‘And where does one get this?’
‘Here, I am happy to say. Elsewhere, perhaps, it is not so easy. We growers exchange these real wines among ourselves.’
I bowed my head in admiration, surrender, and joy. There stood the most ample bottle, and it was not yet eleven o’clock. Doors locked and shutters banged throughout
the establishment. Some last servant yawned on his way to bed. Monsieur Voiron opened a window and the moonlight flooded in from a small pebbled court outside. One could almost hear the town of Chambres breathing in its first sleep. Presently, there was a thick noise in the air, the passing of feet and hoofs, lowings, and a stifled bark or two. Dust rose over the courtyard wall, followed by the strong smell of cattle.
‘They are moving some beasts,’ said Monsieur Voiron, cocking an ear. ‘Mine, I think. Yes, I hear Christophe. Our beasts do not like automobiles – so we move at night. You do not know our country – the Crau, here, or the Camargue? I was – I am now, again – of it. All France is good; but this is the best.’ He spoke, as only a Frenchman can, of his own loved part of his own lovely land.
‘For myself, if I were not so involved in all these affairs’ – he pointed to the advertisements – ‘I would live on our farm with my cattle, and worship them like a Hindu. You know our cattle of the Camargue, Monsieur? No? It is not an acquaintance to rush upon lightly. There are no beasts like them. They have a mentality superior to that of others. They graze and they ruminate, by choice, facing our Mistral, which is more than some automobiles will do. Also they have in them the potentiality of thought – and when cattle think – I have seen what arrives.’
The Wish House and Other Stories Page 49