“Yes, sir. Ah… what day is it today, sir? Lost count, being rather busy.”
“Tuesday, Baker. Come now, your glass, sir.”
Lieutenant-Colonel Braithwaite turned to the mess, all of its officers in an arc around the pair.
“Gentlemen! Captain Baker, VC!”
They drank and cheered, three formal hurrahs.
A batman appeared at the door carrying a tunic.
“Change your coat, Baker!”
Richard walked across, embarrassed, thinking the performance excessive, and put on the captain’s tunic with the single piece of scarlet ribbon on the breast. The officers cheered again and refilled their glasses.
“Transport for you, Baker – the officers will make a day of this – a great honour for the Third Battalion, its first, being a new formation.”
The colonel escorted Richard out.
“By the way, sir, have you heard anything of Second Lieutenant Smithers? He was with a party of walking wounded I know.”
“Not a thing, Baker. No record of his getting back and haven’t heard his name through the Red Cross as a prisoner. Missing, believed dead, I suspect.”
“For the best, sir. His parents are better served that way. So is the Regiment.”
“Agreed. It saves me having to put him to a court. We should be able to keep it quiet.”
“As a Terrier I would very much like to, sir, though I doubt it to be possible. Some of my men saw what happened; they will never keep their mouths shut. He ran and was seen to do so.”
“He is better simply dead than put before a firing squad. We can keep that story very quiet – should be able to make sure it is not heard outside the battalion. A word to the sergeant-major and he may be able to silence the men. I shall see to that. Off you go now!”
There was a wagon waiting to take Richard to the quays – motor vehicles were in short supply and few were available other than for the staff.
The quayside was a mess of stacks of crates and cartons and men coming in from England and wounded on stretchers waiting to go out. Every space along the wharves had a ship tied up and cranes busy. The roads leading away were jammed, showed no signs of overall organisation.
Richard’s wagon was stopped by a detachment of military police.
“Walk from here, sir. No space for passenger carts. Papers, sir?”
The driver produced documentation. The redcap glanced at the covering note and then at Richard’s chest and froze into a salute.
“Sorry, sir. Didn’t see, sir. Been on duty twelve hours straight, sir. You’ll still have to walk, sir – be faster than trying to drive through that mess. The ferry, down at the end of the quays, sir… Not that you can see. One moment, sir. Sergeant!”
An older redcap turned at the private’s shout, instantly spotted the ribbon on Richard’s chest.
“Sir!”
He glanced at the papers.
“Private Smith will escort you to your ship, sir. He can carry your baggage, sir.”
“None, Sergeant. Lost the lot!”
“Very good, sir.”
Another salute and the Sergeant nodded to the private.
There was a guard on the ferry’s brow. They looked at Richard’s papers, as they must, but delayed him only seconds, waving to a steward waiting on board for important personages.
“Captain Baker, sir? Oh, yes, sir. First class saloon for you, sir. This way, sir.”
Richard was sat down in a luxurious cabin with tables for no more than a score of passengers, evidently the ultimate in privileged travel in days of peace. There was a brigadier and a lieutenant-general, each with three staff officers, already ensconced; they scowled at the presence of a mere captain until a staff officer spotted the ribbon and gave them the nod. They stood to the salute, Richard responding in surprise, remembering then the rule that the VC was always saluted first.
“Refreshments, sir?”
“Just tea, please. Too much whisky forced on me already this morning.”
“Yes, sir. Sandwiches, sir?”
“What’s the time? Lost my watch, I’m afraid.”
“Coming up for eleven, sir. Due to sail on the hour, sir. We do try to maintain standards, sir. Dover for one o’clock, sir, possibly earlier, depending on the Navy.”
There was a train waiting at Dover, express to Charing Cross station. On reaching London the problem arose that Richard had no cash on him. He asked a porter for the route to walk to Gieves.
“Can’t take a cab. Lost my uniform with my money. Need to replace everything.”
The porter glanced at the ribbon – like many in his job, he was a Boer War veteran. The railway companies had made a point of employing ex-soldiers when possible.
“Yes, sir. Moment, sir. Stationmaster will deal with it, sir.”
The porter, ancient and bent-backed, dragged out of retirement on a company pittance to work again for little more, shuffled off to the hidden doors behind the ticket office. The stationmaster appeared, stared at Richard and focussed on the ribbon, new and bright.
“A cab to Gieves, sir? Certainly. Follow the porter, sir.”
Richard was amazed – stationmasters were normally distinguished primarily by their self-importance, not by any desire to serve the travelling public.
The cabbie listened to the porter and nodded.
“Get in, guv. Got your bags?”
“None. Lost the lot. I’ve got what I stand in, and the uniform was lent by another officer.”
“Fair enough. Saw your name in the paper. Better get you to Gieves quick, ain’t we?”
The tailors were equally obsequious, anxious to serve.
Richard thought that he might come to like the life as a decorated hero. He suspected that it might not last too long, but he might as well make the best of it until another man came along to take his place in the headlines.
“I am due at the Palace for Tuesday morning.”
“Our gentleman can present himself at the Bedford depot on Monday, sir. Any minor adjustments can be made then. Two sets of working uniform and parade dress then, sir. If necessary, you will present yourself for fittings on Tuesday afternoon, sir, then the remainder can be provided. For the moment, sir, we have your measurements and can work to them as normal. You will require a cab to St Pancras station, sir. I note, sir, that you are not carrying wallet or purse?”
“Lost everything in the field, I am afraid. My bank is in Kettering and I must make the best of my way there.”
“Banking hours being what they are, the branch will be closed before you reach Kettering, sir. Five sovereigns in cash, sir, will save you embarrassment on your journey.”
Richard protested that he did not like to take money in such a way.
“All part of our service, sir. Perfectly normal, sir. Four gold coins and a pound in silver, sir – you will not wish to ask change of a cabbie.”
The train was late and slow and reached Kettering well after the banks closed, as the tailor had foreseen. Richard took a cab home, much suspecting that he was about to cease to be the conquering hero.
His mother greeted him with some surprise. She did not read newspapers.
“I had thought you were in France, Richard.”
“I was, but I have been sent back to the depot to collect more men. I am also to go to the Palace on Tuesday.”
“The Palace? Which one, dear? Are they showing one of these new moving pictures?”
Richard’s elder sister intervened, as she often had to.
“Buckingham Palace, Mother! Richard has been awarded the Victoria Cross, so it said in the newspaper this morning. I told you that Captain Baker of the Bedfords had been distinguished.”
“So you did – but we know that Richard is only a lieutenant, so we agreed it could not be him.”
“He is a captain now – he has a captain’s stars on his shoulders.”