Herbert wondered whether Frank was to be trusted, but knew he was because he didn’t ask personal questions. His talk had a serious side in that he could go on about books by H. G. Wells, Arnold Bennett, and John Galsworthy, to name a few. He was also a firm Labour Party man. ‘I know everybody’s having a hard time these days, though nobody’s as badly off as before the war. It’s going to be a long struggle but I know we’ll win through with Labour, don’t you worry. We’ll end up living in a country with more equality in it than there’s ever been. It’s marvellous to think we’ll both be able to see it, Bert.’
Herbert agreed, and felt privileged to hear such views, though wasn’t sure about equality ever being possible, or even whether he wanted it, knowing he had always felt himself different from everybody around him, to which Frank said with a laugh that he hadn’t lived long enough yet to know that, basically, everybody was more or less the same in that they all had a right to happiness and a roof over their heads, something Herbert had no option but to agree with.
As well as politicians Frank showed an intelligent interest in the war, maybe due to his having missed active service by being in a reserved occupation. This was more to Herbert’s taste, who could enthuse about the Battle of Britain, Stalingrad, D-Day, and the Battle of the Bulge. Mrs Denman was happy to see them huddled by the fire — ‘talking the hind leg off a donkey,’ she said, setting down cups of tea.
They were still talking when Ralph came in, fagged out and shifty-eyed from seeing Mary. ‘Still getting yer oats?’ Bert said, when they were in their room.
‘It seems to upset you.’
‘Well. I always reckon it’s too good for some people.’
There was a catch in Ralph’s voice. ‘I’m not getting anything, as a matter of fact. I can’t think why, all I know is she doesn’t let me do it in Nottingham. She says it’s too common to do it here, that it isn’t right.’
Herbert knew that his laugh would be loud enough to wake Mrs Denman, or even the dead, so Bert had to manage with a snort. ‘You mean to say you’ve got to go all the way to the Lake District for a bang?’
‘Maybe. Seems so. But it’s more romantic up there. Well, that’s her daft idea, anyway.’
‘Your lady-love don’t seem very accommodating. What do you think it’s going to be like when you’re spliced? She’ll twist you round her little finger.’
Ralph’s laugh was sinister. ‘No, she won’t. I’ll have her when I want her. I’ll get my own back. I’ll make her sit up. But in the meantime, I love her, and I don’t know what to do.’
‘Well, I can’t tell yer.’ Bert got his head down for sleep, after murmuring that if he was in that situation he would read the Riot Act, and no mistake.
After a darts match one evening Archie supposed, when they got to their pints, that the factory would be needing less hands now that the war was over and done with. Young ‘uns like them wouldn’t find much work when they and everybody else came out of the army. ‘It’ll be like before the war, if we aren’t careful, back to the dole, no matter what government we’ve got in.’
Herbert passed his cigarettes across. ‘Nah, we’ll be working flat out for years on reconstruction.’ Every time he called at the library he read The Times and the Daily Telegraph, a habit not lost from his interest when they were laid out in the reading room at school. ‘The Labour Government’ll keep everybody at work, don’t you worry. They’re pledged to it.’
Grumbling went on all the time, and though Herbert listened, and sometimes took part because much of it was humorous, he couldn’t basically see what anyone had to belly-ache about, unless they did so because otherwise they would be silent, and that such talk was a device for helping them to breathe. It was one grouse after another, about work, rationing, the weather, the government, the gaffers at the factory, but the patina of liberty made everything palatable to Herbert.
Work took the strain of what he saw as his previously unreal existence: the rations were enough, and the weather — foul though it mostly seemed to be — enclosed him with friendliness and protection. He was clad in an old army topcoat dyed navy blue to keep himself warm, and out of his earnings bought a utility-style suit for second best. He had a roof over his head, as well as a girlfriend who let him have it whenever there was an opportunity. What more could he want?
Mrs Denman even turned her back when he led Eileen up to his room on Sunday afternoon, a safe enough time because Ralph made sure of being at Mary’s house while her parents were out visiting family. Herbert pictured him on bended knees in the parlour pleading with her to let him get it in while he — Bert — was having no trouble banging away, and telling Eileen not to cry out so loud every time she came.
All in all his existence was as great an advance on former times as could be imagined. At the factory he was liked because he mucked in with everybody else, and grafted willingly at his machine. The chargehand would be sorry to lose him when he got called up, and said they’d be sure to keep a job for him when he came home again.
Nobody expected to go on living in the same way forever, and that was a fact, and Bert knew his present status couldn’t last because neither had the first easy part of Herbert’s life in India. Soon after the New Year he took the morning off, put on his suit, and got on the bus for the recruiting centre, to breathe the full extent of his chest, piss cleanly into a jar, cough successfully, and see his foot shoot into the horizontal when tapped with a rubber hammer. ‘You’re Al,’ the MO said, so he signed on for the duration of the present emergency as an infantryman, and after a few more questions was told to go back to work and wait for his papers.
‘What did you do a daft thing like that for?’ Archie wanted to know. They stood, before switching on for the afternoon stint. ‘The army’s worse than Borstal. I’ll only go at the last minute. It’s fucking useless. In fact, they’ll have to drag me in.’
Herbert had expected biting anger, and got it. ‘I want to join up of my own free will.’
‘Free will? What’s that? The only free will I know about is to fuck off somewhere where they can’t find me, and not go. War’s over, in’t it? Blokes like us don’t have any free will, anyway. We get fucked from pillar to post and the only thing we should do is punch ’em in their four-eyed phizogs when we get the chance. Smash their bleedin’ teggies in.’
Herbert smiled. ‘Yeh, you’re right.’ His only exercise of free will had brought him here. Now he was on the threshold of another go, and wasn’t sure where it would land him. Archie said the war was over, and so it was, but the war would never be over, because wars never were. Conflict was a factor of human nature, so there’d always be a call for soldiers. Even if wars were finished on land and sea you had your own personal war battling on in yourself, which inner contest he felt had been wearing him away since birth. ‘The sooner I go in the army the sooner I get out,’ was his poor excuse. ‘Anyway, what’s a few months more or less?’
Archie had to think about such a serious matter, though his mood was relaxed. ‘Look at it this way, Bert. Say it’s three months. Well, three months is ninety days’ boozin’, scoffin’ and fuckin’ time, in’t it? And grabbin’ at your machine as well — and doing what you like after clocking out at night. It’s a lot better than being a bag o’ shit in the army and getting barked at all day.’
People complained eternally because they didn’t have the mental flexibility to see into the future. Such an ostrich-like attitude, Herbert thought, must have come from being at home all their lives. On the other hand, maybe Archie’s views were the only ones worth believing in. His basic sense was undeniable. Herbert, being two people, doubted everything at times, though he still wasn’t so fixed into the present that he could settle his mind about it. ‘You can do those things anywhere.’