It was a man’s voice, a familiar one. The song, recalling old fashioned music-hall tunes of fifty years before, was, in fact, contemporary to that moment, popular among the men, perhaps, on account of such nostalgic tones and rhythm. The singing stopped abruptly. A woman began giggling and squeaking. Gwatkin and I paused.
‘One of our fellows?’ he said.
‘It sounds to me like Corporal Gwylt.’
‘I believe you’re right.’
‘Let’s have a look.’
We skirted the dingle by way of a narrow path among the bushes, stepping quietly through the undergrowth that surrounded the glade. On the stone seat a soldier and a girl were sprawled in a long embrace. The soldier’s arm bore two white stripes. The back of the huge head was unmistakably that of Corporal Gwylt. We watched for a moment. Suddenly Gwatkin gave a start. He drew in his breath.
‘Christ,’ he said very quietly.
He began to pick his way with great care through the shrubs and laurels. I followed him. I was not at first aware why he was moving so soon, nor that something had upset him. I thought his exclamation due to the scratch of a thorn, or remembrance of some additional item to be supervised before handing over the Company. When we were beyond the immediate outskirts of the dingle, he began walking quickly. He did not speak until we were on the path leading back to the house.
‘You saw who the girl was?’
‘No.’
‘Maureen.’
‘God, was she?’
There was absolutely no comment to make. This was even more unanswerable than the news that Gwatkin had been superseded in his command. If you are in love with a woman — and Gwatkin was undoubtedly in love — you can recognise her a mile off. The fact that I myself had failed to identify Maureen in the evening light did not make Gwatkin’s certainty in the least suspect. The statement could be accepted as correct.
‘Corporal Gwylt,’ he said. ‘Could you believe it?’
‘It was Gwylt all right.’
‘What do you think of it?’
‘There’s nothing to say.’
‘Rolling about with him.’
‘They were certainly in a clinch.’
‘Well, say something.’
‘Gwylt ought to pray more to Mithras.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You know — the Kipling poem — “keep us pure till the dawn”.’
‘My God,’ said Gwatkin, ‘you’re bloody right.’
He began to laugh. That was one of the moments when I felt I had not been wrong in thinking there was some style about him. We reached the house, parting without further discussion on either side, though Gwatkin had again laughed loudly from time to time. I made my way up the rickety stairs of the stable. The light was out in the bedroom, the blackout down from the window, through which moonlight shone on to the floor. This would usually have meant Kedward was asleep. However, as I came through the door, he sat up in bed.
‘You’re late, Nick.’
‘I went for a walk in the park with Rowland.’
‘Is he browned off?’
‘Just a shade.’
‘I couldn’t get to sleep,’ Kedward said. ‘Never happened to me before. I suppose I’m so bloody pleased to get command of the Company. I keep on having new ideas about running it. I was thinking, I’ll probably get Phillpots or Parry in your place, now that you’re going up to Div.’
‘Phillpots is a nice chap to work with.’
‘Parry is the better officer,’ said Kedward.
He turned over, in due course going to sleep, I suppose, in spite of these agitations induced by the prospect of power. For a time I thought about Gwatkin, Gwylt and Maureen, then went to sleep myself. The following day there were farewells to be said. I undertook these in the afternoon.
‘I hear you’re leaving the Battalion too, Sergeant-Major.’
‘That I am, sir.’
‘I expect you’re sorry to go.’
‘I am that, sir, and then I’m not. Nice to see home again, that will be, but there needs promotion for these younger lads that must be getting on.’
‘Who is going to take your place?’
‘It will be Sergeant Humphries, I do believe.’
‘I hope Humphries does the job as well as you have.’
‘Ah, well, sir, Humphries is a good NCO, and he should be all right, I do think.’
‘Thank you for all your help.’
‘Oh, it was a pleasure, sir …’
Before CSM Cadwallader could say more — not a man to take lightly opportunity to speak at length on the occasion of such a leave-taking, he was certainly going to say more, much more — Corporal Gwylt came running up. He saluted perfunctorily. Evidently I was not the object of his approach. He was tousled and out of breath.
‘Excuse me, sir, may I speak to the Sergeant-Major?’
‘Go ahead.’
Gwylt could hardly contain his indignation.
‘Somebody’s broke in and stole the Company’s butter, Sergeant-Major, and the lock’s all bust and the wire ripped out of the front of the meat-safe where it was put, and the Messing Corporal do think it be that bugger Sayce again that has taken the butter to flog it, so will you come and see right away, the Messing Corporal says, that we have your witness, Sergeant-Major, if there’s a Summary of Evidence like there was those blankets …’
CSM Cadwallader shortened his speech in preparation to a mere goodbye and grip of the hand. There was no alternative in the circumstances. He looked disappointed, but characteristically put duty before even the most enjoyably sententious of valedictions. He and Corporal Gwylt hurried off together. By this time the truck that was to take me to Divisional Headquarters had driven up. An NCO was parading the men who were to travel up in it for medical treatment. Gwatkin appeared. He had been busy all the morning, but had promised he would turn up to see me off. We talked for a minute or two about Company arrangements, revisions proposed by Kedward. Gwatkin had resumed his formality of manner.
‘Perhaps you’ll arrive at the ITC yourself, Nick,’ he said, ‘on the way to something better, of course, but it’s used as a place of transit. I trust I’ll be gone by then, but it would be good to meet.’
‘We may both turn up on the same staff,’ I said, without great seriousness.
‘No,’ he said gravely, ‘I’ll never get on the staff. I don’t mind that. All I want is to carry out regimental duties properly.’
He tapped his gaiter with the swagger stick he carried. Then his tone changed.
‘I had some rather bad news from home this morning,’ he said.
‘You’re not in luck.’
‘My father-in-law passed away. I think I told you he had been ill for some time.’
‘You did. I’m sorry. Did you get on very well with him?’
‘Pretty well,’ said Gwatkin, ‘but this will mean Blodwen’s mother will have to move in with us. I like her all right, but I’d rather that didn’t have to happen. Look, Nick, you won’t speak to anyone about last night.’
‘Of course not.’
‘It was bloody awful,’ he said.
‘Of course.’
‘But a lesson to me.’
‘One never takes lessons to heart. It’s just a thing people talk about — learning by experience and all that.’
‘Oh, but I do take lessons to heart,’ he said. ‘What do you think then?’
‘That one just gets these knocks from time to time.’
‘You believe that?’
‘Yes.’
‘You really believe that everyone has that sort of thing happen to them?’
‘In different ways.’
Gwatkin considered the matter for a moment.
‘I don’t know,’ he said, ‘I can’t help thinking it was just because I was such a bloody fool, what with Maureen and making a balls of the Company too. I thought at least I was being some good as a soldier, but I was bloody wrong.’
I thought of Pennistone and his quotations from Vigny.