The gentleman from Gieves was waiting, together with a flunkey to do the work if the fittings showed need for alterations. To his satisfaction, all was well.
“As it should be, sir. One does not expect to find errors at Gieves! I will pass the word that further fittings are unnecessary.”
Full dress for the investiture, breast blank apart from a little hook for the King to place the actual Cross. Beside it was a pile of mess undress and working uniforms and two dozens of shirts and underclothes and stockings.
“Boots and shoes, sir. As I know you lost everything in France, I have ventured to purchase for you, sir, to foot size. Obviously, we have no lasts for you and could not construct proper footwear in the time available – leather will not respond to demands for haste, sir!”
Richard made his thanks, suggested that he would not have too great a need for style in France.
“I shall be up to my knees in mud and muck more often than not, I suspect, sir! Winter is coming before too long.”
The tailor shuddered at the prospect – he did not appreciate the thought that his clothing might be subjected to such vulgarity as wading through rain- and snow-drenched fields.
“I am to return to France on Friday, sir. I do not know what the postal arrangements might be but fear it will be difficult to send you my cheque in good time. Would it be possible to meet your account now?”
“Not at all, Captain Baker! There will be no account, sir. I am instructed most straitly to accept nothing from you on this occasion, sir. Men who have lost all, and have offered their lives in process, are not to be dunned by a mere tailor! It is our honour, sir!”
“You are very good to me. Thank you.”
That was two hundred and more saved, Richard thought. A Cross was worth having!
An ancient private reported as the tailor left, bowing his way out.
“Beg pardon, sir. I am to be your batman for the week, sir. Not to accompany you to France, sir, on account of flat feet what I got, and being too old for active service, sir, but I can turn you out proper while you’re here, sir. Suggs, sir.”
“Good. I am glad to see you, Suggs. The tailor has just left a great mass of clothing and I was wondering what to do with it.”
“You don’t do nothing, sir. I will. Need to get a trunk, sir. Officer’s clothing, for the use of. Buy one in town, sir. Two different places you can get one, sir, in Bedford.”
Richard had lost his original naval officer’s trunk, had not thought as far forward as to purchase a replacement.
“I’ll do that later, Suggs. I have to meet the company officers now.”
He marched off, Suggs pointing the way for him.
He passed the drill square, taking care not to notice the stumbling incompetence of the platoons of very new recruits. He came to attention as a sergeant-major roared them to present arms to the officer.
The sergeant-major stamped and bellowed and made them repeat the evolution three times over before he was satisfied.
“Beg pardon, Captain Baker, sir, but these green objects need to learn what’s right, sir!”
“Very good, ‘major. Carry on.”
Richard was wise enough in the ways of the military not to state agreement with the sergeant-major. There was no need to tell the warrant officer that he was right – in the nature of things, he was never wrong, did not know how to be.
Lieutenant Willoughby opened the door for Richard to enter the offices and stamped very loudly as he came to attention. Second Lieutenant Presteigne did his best to repeat the performance, showing how very green he was.
“Willoughby, sir!”
“Presteigne, sir!”
“Captain Baker. I am pleased to meet you, gentlemen. I much hope that we shall work well together. We are due to go to France on Friday and will expect to be in the line within a very few days thereafter. I need not say that I know you will do your best. I will say that your best must be unfailingly excellent – the men have the right to be led by officers of the highest quality. We shall take a large draft out with us and must bring them up to the standard of the survivors of the original company. We shall get to know each other quickly in the field, so just a brief introduction will suffice now. Mr Willoughby, what can you tell me about yourself?”
“Not a lot sir.” Willoughby - much the same age as Richard and undistinguished in appearance, moderately fair, of middle height, pale blue eyes, well-built but not exceptionally so – gave a diffident smile. “Joined in ’13, sir, from Sandhurst as normal. I was Harrow before that, had always intended to join our regiment and was fortunate enough to do so. Now I have been lucky again, sir!”
Hero-worship – not something Richard had expected, especially from a man his equal in age. He could live with it.
“Mr Presteigne?”
Younger and leaner and darker, still a boy facially.
“I joined when war broke out, sir. From Rugby. I have completed the regiment’s training, sir. I was Cadet Force previously, of course. We Presteignes have always soldiered with the Bedfordshires, sir. Like the Willoughbys. My elder brother is a lieutenant in the 1st Battalion, sir. They are coming back to England, I hear, sir, but he might not be back in time for victory, sir!”
“He will have to be damned slow if that’s the case, Presteigne! We are in retreat still in the west, are trying to form and hold a line from the southern Belgian coast down into northern France. We will be part of the fighting to do that. With luck, we may keep the Germans out of Calais.”
Presteigne did not seem to have read the newspapers or looked at any maps. He was shocked.
“Very briefly, I will demand only that we – the officers – are to be first in and last out on every occasion. We ask nothing of the men that we will not do ourselves.”
“Yes, sir. We know that of you, sir!”
It finally occurred to Richard that his medal was to be a burden. He was to be the leader in every bold endeavour, to do more than any other, to search for the opportunity to sacrifice himself. He had been looking forward to a profitable career, but it seemed he would have to survive the war first, and that was easier said than done perhaps.
“We shall meet the company in a few minutes. Do you know them already?”
“The draft was formed on Friday, sir. We met them then. Other than that, we had seen some of the men in various training platoons and companies.”
“A pity. It would have been handy if you had some idea of their various abilities. Get to know them as quickly as you can. Put a name to their faces and have some idea of who they are. Useful if you can call them by name when you’re busy in the field. I found out in Belgium that one of my survivors had a sniper’s skills and another knew a bit about using black powder for demolitions. I should have known beforehand.”
“Sergeant Painter is battalion boxing champion at his weight, sir. He has fought more than once in army competitions and has won several cups for the battalion.”
“Good. Sounds like the right sort - and that’s the sort of thing we need to know about the men.”
What he was saying sounded good and for all Richard knew, it might be true. It was important to sound right, at the beginning.
“Let us go out to the square, gentlemen, to meet our people.”
Sergeant Painter might have been a fine man in the ring but he was limited otherwise. He had the knowledge to work the men on the drill square, which had been sufficient in the depot, and could be relied upon to carry out any order. More than that, thinking for himself, was beyond him.
He was a large man, boxing at cruiserweight, and possessed a cauliflower ear and a squashed nose and little else to remember. He was not the brightest of mortals.
“Draft for D Company, sir, with Private O’Grady added and making sixty-one men, sir. All present and correct, sir.”