“Before we part, Nick,” he said, “I must read you something I found here. I can’t make out just what all of it means, but some has obvious bearing on army life.”
“Charles, you’ve got to do some quick thinkin
“So we heard.”
“There’ve been rumours?”
“One always knows these things first in the ranks. That’s one of the advantages. Where’s it to be?”
“Of course that’s being kept secret, but Widmerpool thinks — for what it’s worth — the destination is probably the Far East.”
“We heard that too.”
“Then you know as much as me.”
“We seem to. Of course, security may be so good, it will really turn out to be Iceland. That sort of thing is always happening.”
“The point is, you could probably — certainly — get out of being sent overseas on grounds of age and medical category.”
“I agree I’m older than the rocks amongst which I sit, and have died infinitely more times than the vampire. Even so, I’d quite like to see the gorgeous East — even the Icelandic geysers, if it comes to that.”
“You’ll go through with it?”
“Not a doubt.”
“I just thought I ought to pass on what was being said — strictly against all the rules.”
“That shan’t go any further. Depend upon it. I suppose Widmerpool saw this coming?”
“So I gather.”
“And all that altruism about F Mess was to get me on the move?”
“That’s about it.”
“He couldn’t have done me a better turn,” said Stringham. “The old boy’s a marvellous example of one of the aspects of this passage I want to read you. Like everything that’s any good, it has about twenty different meanings.”
He stopped and began turning the pages of the book he had brought with him. We stood beside a pillar-box. When he found the place, he began to read aloud:
“I shut my eyes and turned them on my heart.
As a man calls for wine before he fights,
I asked one draught of earlier, happier sights
Ere fitly I could hope to play my part.
Think first, fight afterwards — the soldier’s art;
One taste of the old time sets all to rights.”
“Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came?”
“Childe Stringham — in this case.”
“I’m never sure what I feel about Browning.”
“He always gives the impression of writing about people who are wearing very expensive fancy dress. All the same, there’s a lot in what he says. Not that I feel in the least nostalgic about earlier, happier sights. I can’t offhand recall many. The good bit is about thinking first and fighting after.”
“Let’s hope the High Command have taken the words to heart.”
“Odd that Browning should know that was so important.”
“Perhaps he should have been a general.”
“It ought to be equally borne in mind by all ranks. There might be an Order of the Day on the subject. Can’t Widmerpool arrange that?”
“Widmerpool’s leaving Div. H.Q. too.”
“To become a colonel?”
“The Divisional Commander may bitch that up. He’s tumbled on some of Widmerpool’s intriguing and doesn’t approve, but Widmerpool will go either way.”
“How very dramatic.”
“Isn’t it.”
“Then what will happen to you?”
“God knows. The I.T.C., I imagine. Look, I shall have to go back to Cheesman soon, but I must tell you about the hell of a business on my leave the other day.”
I gave some account of the bombing of the Madrid and the Jeavons house.
“The Madrid, fancy that. I once took Peggy there in the early days of our marriage. The evening was a total frost. And then where I used to live in that top floor flat with Tuffy looking after me — where I learnt to be sober. Where Tuffy used to read Browning. Is it all in ashes?”
“Not in the least. The outside of the house looks just the same as usual.”
“Poor Lady Molly — she ought to have stayed doing that job at Dogdene.”
“Much too quiet for her.”
“Poor Ted, too. What on earth will he do with himself now? I used to enjoy occasionally sneaking off to the pub with Ted.”
“He’s going on as before. Camping out in the house and carrying on as an air-raid warden.”
“I chiefly remember your sister-in-law, Priscilla, as making rather good going with some musician for whom my mother once gave an extraordinary party. Weren’t you there, Nick? I associate that night with an odd little woman covered in frills like Little Bo-Peep. I made some sort of dive at her.”
“She was called Mrs. Maclintick. She’s now living with the musician for whom your mother gave the party — Hugh Moreland.”
“Moreland, that was the name. She’s living with him, is she? What lax morals people have these days. The war, I suppose. I do my best to set an example, but no one follows me in my monastic celibacy. That was a strange night. Tuffy arrived to drive me home. It comes back to me fairly clearly, in spite of a great deal too much to drink. That’s a taste of old times, if ever there was one. Makes one ready to fight anybody.”
“Charles, I shall have to get back to Cheesman. You’ve absolutely decided to stick to the Mobile Laundry, come what may?”
“Quis separabit? — that’s the Irish Guards, isn’t it? The Mobile Laundry shares the motto.”
“Are you returning to the billet?”
“I think I’ll go for a stroll. Don’t feel like any more poetry reading at the moment. Poetry always rather disturbs me. I think I shall have to give it up — like drink. A short walk will do me good. I’m off duty till nine o’clock.”
“Good-bye, Charles — if we don’t meet before the Laundry moves.”
“Good-bye, Nick.”
He smiled and nodded, then went off up the street. He gave the impression of having severed his moorings pretty completely with anything that could be called everyday life, army or otherwise. I returned to Cheesman and Sergeant Ablett. They seemed to have got on well together and were still vigorously discussing vehicle maintenance.
“Find that man all right, sir?” asked the Sergeant.
“Had a word with him. Know him in civilian life.”
“Thought you might, sir. He could have been of use in the concert, but now it looks as if we’re moving and there won’t be any concert.”
“I expect you’ll put on a show wherever you go. We shall miss your trouserless tap-dance next time, Sergeant.”
“That’s always a popular item,” said Sergeant Ablett, without false modesty.
I took Cheesman back to G Mess. His mildness did not prevent him from being argumentative about every subject that arose.
“That’s what you think,” he said, more than once, “but there’s another point of view entirely.”
This determination would be useful in running the Laundry, subject, like every small, more or less independent entity, to all sorts of pressures from outside.
“Wait a moment,” he said. “Before I forget, I’d like to make a note of your name, and the Sergeant’s, and the D.A.A.G.’s.”
He loosened the two top buttons of his service-dress tunic to rummage for a notebook. This movement revealed that he wore underneath the tunic a khaki waistcoat cut like that of a civilian suit. I commented on the unexpectedness of this garment, worn with uniform and made of the same material.
“You’re not the first person to mention that,” said Cheesman unsmilingly. “I can’t see why.”