‘This is where we part company, Guy. Your Brigadier is taking you over now. Our Brigadier. For your information we are now part of “Hookforce”, Brigadier Ritchie-Hook commanding, why the hell aren’t you with your troop, Ivor?’
‘We’re training by sections today,’ said Claire.
‘Well, you can come and help get out tomorrow’s orders.’
Ian said: ‘I think Tommy might have done something about my suitcase. The RAF does not understand about servants.’
‘What have you done with your Air Marshal?’
‘I got him down,’ said Ian. ‘I got him right down in the end. All the preliminary symptoms of persecution mania. He had to let me go – like Pharaoh and Moses if you appreciate the allusion. I didn’t actually have to slay his first-born, but I made him break out in boils and blains from social inferiority – literally. A dreadful sight. So now I’m at Hostile Offensive Operations, appropriately enough. Have you got a man you can send for my luggage?’
‘No.’
‘You may have noticed I’ve gone up in rank.’ He showed his cuff.
‘I’m afraid I don’t know what that means.’
‘But surely you can count? I don’t expect people to know the names of RAF ranks, but you must notice there is one more of these things. It looks newer than the others. I rather think I equal a Major. It’s monstrous I should have to carry my own bag.’
‘You won’t need your bag. There’s nowhere to sleep on the island. What are you doing here, anyway?’
‘There was to have been a conference on board – most secret operational planning. Sea-sickness intervened. Like a lunatic,’ said Ian, ‘I came for the trip. I thought it would be a nice change from the blitz, God help me. I’ve had no sleep or food. An awful inside cabin over the screw.’
‘The bachelors’ quarters?’
‘Slave quarters, I should think. I had to share with Tommy. He was disgustingly sick. As a matter of fact I think I might be able to eat something now.’
Guy took him to the hotel. Food was found, and while Ian ate he explained his new appointment.
‘It might have been made for me. In fact, I rather think it was made for me, on Air Marshal Beech’s entreaty. I liaise with the Press.’
‘You haven’t come to write us up?’
‘Good God, no. You’re a deadly secret still. That’s the beauty of my job. Everything at HOO is secret, so all I have to do is drink with the American journalists at the Savoy from time to time and refuse information. I tell them I’m a newspaper-man myself and know how they feel. They say I’m a regular guy. And so I am dammit.
‘Are you, Ian?’
‘You’ve never seen me with my fellow journalists. I show then the democratic side of my character – not what Air Marshal Beech saw.’
‘I should awfully like to see it too.’
‘You wouldn’t understand.’ He paused, drank deeply and added: ‘I’ve been pretty red ever since the Spanish war.’
Guy had nothing to do that morning. He watched Ian eat and drink and smoke. As an illusion of well-being returned, Ian became confidential.
‘There’s a ship coming for you today.’
‘We’ve heard that before.’
‘My dear fellow, I know. Hookforce sails in the next convoy. The three other Commandos are on board their ships already. You’ll be quite an army if you aren’t sunk on the way out.’ He progressed from confidence to indiscretion. ‘This exercise is all a blind. Tommy doesn’t know, of course, but the moment you’re all safely below the hatches, you up stick and away.’
‘There was some loose talk about an island.’
‘Operation Bottleneck? That was off weeks ago. Since then there’s been Operation Quicksand and Operation Mousetrap, They’re both off. It’s Operation Badger now, of course.’
‘And what is that?’
‘If you don’t know, I oughtn’t to tell you.’
‘Too late to go back now.’
‘Well, frankly it’s simply Quicksand under another name.’
‘And they tell you all this, Ian, at HOO HQ?’
‘I pick things up. Journalist’s training.’
That afternoon, as on every preceding afternoon, the troopship failed. Tommy devised his orders for the exercise and issued them to the troop-leaders; troop-leaders relayed them to section commanders. The Cleopatra held her own secrets of recuperation and planning. At evening the hotel filled. X Commando was always the gayer for Tommy's presence. Most of the mess were old acquaintances of Ian’s. They welcomed him with profusion until at length after midnight he sought assistance in finding his way back to the yacht. Guy led him.
‘Delightful evening,’ he said. ‘Delightful fellows.’ His voice was always slower and higher when he was in liquor. ‘Just like Bellamy’s without the bombing. How right you were, Guy, to fix yourself up with this racket – I’ve been round the other Commandos. Not at all the same sort of fellows. I should like to write a piece about you all. But it wouldn’t do.’
‘No, it would not. Not at all.’
‘Don’t misunderstand me,’ – the night air was taxing his residue of self-command – ‘I don’t refer to security. There’s an agitation now from the Mystery of Information to take you off the secret list. Heroes are in strong demand. Heroes are urgently required to boost civilian morale. You’ll see pages about the Commandos in the papers soon. But not about your racket, Guy. They just won’t do, you know. Delightful fellows, heroes too, I dare say, but the Wrong Period. Last-war stuff, Guy. Went out with Rupert Brooke.’
‘You find us poetic?’
‘No,’ said Ian, stopping in his path and turning to face Guy in the darkness. ‘Perhaps not poetic, exactly, but Upper Class. Hopelessly upper class. You’re the “Fine Flower of the Nation”. You can’t deny it and it won’t do.’
In the various stages of inebriation, facetiously itemized for centuries, the category, ‘prophetically drunk’, deserves a place.
‘This is a People’s War,’ said Ian prophetically, ‘and the People won’t have poetry and they won’t have flowers. Flowers stink. The upper classes are on the secret list. We want heroes of the people, to or for the people, by, with and from the people.’
The chill air of Mugg completed its work of detriment. Ian broke into song:
‘When wilt thou save the people?
Oh, God of Mercy! When?
The People, Lord, the People!
Not thrones and crowns, but men!’
He broke into a trot and breathlessly repeating the lines in a loud tuneless chant, reached the gangway.
Out of the night the voice of Ritchie-Hook rang terribly. ‘Stop making that infernal noise, whoever you are, and go to bed.’
Guy left Ian cowering among the quayside litter, waiting a suitable moment to slip on board.
Next morning at first light to Guy’s surprise the troopship at last emerged from the haze of myth and was seen to be solidly at anchor beyond the mouth of the harbour.
‘Guy, if the Brigadier doesn’t want you, you can make yourself useful to me. Jumbo and I have got to get our embarkation orders. You might go on board and fix up accommodation with the navy. It’ll be the hell of a business getting everything on board. I hope to God they’ll give us another day before the exercise.’
‘According to Ian there isn’t going to be an exercise.’
‘Oh, rot. They’ve sent half HOO HQ down to watch it.’
‘Ian says it’s a blind.’
‘Ian doesn’t know what he’s talking about.’
‘There’s that section of McTavish’s I mentioned,’ said Jumbo, ‘out in the wilds.’
‘Call them in.’
‘No signal link.’
‘Hell. Where are they?’
‘No information. They’re due back the day after tomorrow.’
‘They’ll have to miss the exercise, that’s all.’
This was not Guy’s first embarkation. He had been through it all before at Liverpool with the
Halberdiers. This ship was not ‘hired transport’. She was manned by a new naval crew. Guy conscientiously inspected mess decks and cabins. After two hours he said: ‘There simply isn’t room, sir.’
‘There must be,’ said the First Officer. ‘We’re fitted out to army specifications to carry one infantry battalion. That’s all I know about it.’
‘We aren’t quite a normal battalion.’
‘That’s your pigeon,’ said the First Officer.
Guy returned to report. He found Jumbo alone.
‘Well, you and the Brigadier and whatever other headquarters he’staking had better go in another ship,’ said Jumbo. ‘I think everyone would have a happier voyage without the Brigadier.’
‘That doesn’t solve the problem of the Sergeants. Can’t they muck in with the men for once?’
‘Impossible. Trouble’s begun already with the Sergeants. The grenadiers formed up to Colonel Tommy. All their NCOs carry three stripes and claim to mess apart. Then the Green Jackets formed up to say that in that case their Corporals must too. By the way, I hope you’ve got me a decent cabin?’
‘Sharing with Major Graves and the doctor.’
‘I expected something rather better than that, you know.’
At luncheon Guy found himself the object of persecution.
‘You’ve got to realize,’ said Bertie with unusual severity, ‘that my men are big men. They need space.’
‘My servant must have quarters next door to me,’ said Eddie.’ I can’t go shouting down to the troop deck every time I want anything.’
‘But, Guy, we can’t sleep with the Coldstream.’
‘I won’t be responsible for the heavy machine-guns, Crouchback, unless I have a lock-up,’ said Major Graves. ‘And what’s this about doubling up with the MO? I mean to say, that’s a bit thick.’
‘I can’t possibly share the sick-bay with the ship’s surgeon,’ said the doctor.’ I’m entitled to a cabin of my own.’
‘It doesn’t seem to me you’ve done anything for us.’
‘What they need is Julia Stitch to keep them in order,’ said Claire sympathetically.
Tommy Blackhouse meanwhile was preparing himself for a disagreeable interview, which he could no longer postpone. Tommy, like most soldiers, sought when possible to delegate unkindness. He now realized that he and only he must break bad news to Jumbo.
Jumbo,’ he said when they were alone in the office, ‘I shouldn’t bother to come on board tonight. We don’t really need you for the exercise and there’s a lot of stuff here to clear up.’
‘Everything in the office is clear up to date, Colonel.’
‘The ship’s cram-full. You’ll be more comfortable on shore.’
‘I’d like to get settled in for the voyage.’
‘The trouble is, Jumbo, that there’s not going to be room for you.’
‘Crouchback has found me a berth. Tight quarters, but I shall manage.’
‘You see, you aren’t really part of operational headquarters.’
‘Not really part of the Commando?’
‘You know our establishment. No administration officer. Supernumerary.’
‘As far as that goes,’ said Jumbo, ‘I think it can be regularized.’
‘It isn’t only that, I’m afraid. I want to take you, of course. I don’t know what I shall do without you. But the Brigadier’s orders are that we only take combatant soldiers.’
‘Ben Ritchie-Hook? I’ve known him for more than twenty years.’
‘That’s the trouble. The Brigadier thinks you’re a bit senior for our sort of show.’
‘Ben thinks that?’
‘I’m afraid so. Of course I dare say if we set up a permanent headquarters in the Middle East you could come out and join us later. Meanwhile they want you at HOO HQ.’
Jumbo was a Halberdier, trained from first manhood in the giving and taking of orders. He was hard hit, but he excluded all personal feelings.
‘I shall have to adjust my posting,’ he said. ‘It will be rather complicated. Back to barracks.’
‘They can use you at HOO HQ.’
‘They must apply in the proper quarter, in the proper form. My place is in barracks.’ He sat among his files before his empty trays his old heart empty of hope. ‘You don’t think it might help if I saw Ben Ritchie-Hook?’
‘Yes,’ said Tommy, rather eagerly. ‘I should do that. You’ll have plenty of time. He’ll be in London for at least three weeks. They’re flying him out to join us in Egypt. I dare say you can get him to take you with him.’
‘Not if he doesn’t want me. I’ve never known Ben do anything he doesn’t want to do. You’re taking Crouchback?’
‘He’s going to be Brigade Intelligence Officer.’
‘I’m glad you’ll have at least one Halberdier. He’ll make a useful officer. A lot to learn, of course, but the right stuff in him.’
‘I don’t know when we sail. You’ll stay here until then, of course.’
‘Of course.’
It was a relief to both of them when Major Graves came to complain about the sappers’ stores. None of his troop could be trusted to handle explosives. Was there a suitable magazine on board?
‘Oh, leave them where they are until the sappers get back.’
‘Unguarded?’
‘They’ll be safe enough.’
‘Very good, sir.’
When Major Graves left, Tommy communed further with his orders for the exercise. The secret of their futility was kept from him until all were embarked. Then the party from the Cleopatra came aboard and it was announced that there was to be no exercise. Major-General Whale from HOO HQ had intended to address a full parade of all ranks but deck-space was lacking. Instead he told the officers. No embarkation leave. No last letters. The ship would join others carrying other Commandos under escort at a rendezvous on the high seas.
‘Shanghaied, by God,’ said Claire.
Jumbo could not know that Tommy had been kept in the dark too. To his sad old sense of honour it was the final betrayal. He watched from the icy fore-shore as the troopship and the yacht sailed away; then heavily returned to the empty hotel. His jaunt was over.
On his desert island Mugg crept out to pilfer the sapper stores, and the sappers themselves, emaciated and unshaven, presently lurched in carrying Dr Glendening-Rees on a wattle hurdle.
INTERLUDE
‘I must say,’ said Ivor Claire, ‘the local inhabitants are uncommonly civil.’
He and Guy sat at sundown in the bar of the hotel. Light shone out into the dusk unscreened to join the headlamps of the cars, passing, turning and stopping on the gravel, and the bright shop windows in the streets beyond. Cape Town at the extremity of two dark continents was a ville lumière such as Trimmer had sought in vain.
‘Three ships in and a reception committee for each. Something laid on for everybody.’
‘It’s partly to tease the Dutch, partly to keep the soldiery out of mischief. I gather they had trouble with the last Trooper.’
‘Partly good nature too, I fancy.’
‘Oh, yes, partly that, I’ve no doubt.’
‘It didn’t do B Commando much good. They’ve been taken on a route march, poor devils.’
‘Probably the best thing for them.’
An upright elderly man came across the room. ‘Good evening, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘Forgive my butting in. I’m secretary of the club here. I don’t know whether you’ve been there yet.’
‘Yes, indeed,’ said Guy, ‘thank you very much. I was taken to luncheon there today.’
‘Ah, good. Do use it as your own if you want a game of billiards or bridge or anything. Remember the way? Next door to the post office.’
‘Thank you very much.’
‘There’s usually a small gathering about this time. I’ll look out for you if you drop in, and introduce you to some fellows.’
‘Thanks awfully.’
‘You’ve set us wondering, you know – the different re
gimental badges. Are you all replacements?’
‘We’re a mixed lot,’ said Claire.
‘Well, I know we mustn’t ask questions. Are you both fixed up for dinner?’
‘Yes, thank you very much.’
‘Uncommonly civil fellows,’ said Claire when they were again alone. ‘Anyway, I’ve had the most satisfactory day.’
‘I too.’
‘I took my time going ashore but there were still friendly natives hanging about. A nice ass of a woman came up and said: “Is there anything special you’d like to do or see?” and I said: “Horses.” I haven’t thought of anything much except horses – and of course Freda – for the last six weeks, as you may imagine. “That may be a bit difficult,” she said. “Are you safe on one?” So I pointed out I was in a cavalry regiment. “But aren’t you all mechanized now?” I said I thought I could still keep up and she said: “There’s Mr Somebody, but he’s rather special. I’ll see.” So she got hold of Mr Somebody and as luck would have it, he’d seen Thimble win at Dublin and was all over me. He had a very decent stable indeed somewhere down the coast and let me pick my horse and we spent the morning hacking. After luncheon I took a jumper he’s schooling over the fences. I feel a different and a better man. What happened to you?’
‘Eddie and Bertie and I went to the Zoo. We persecuted the ostriches, tried to make them put their heads in the sand, but they wouldn’t. Eddie got into the cage and chased them all over the place with a black keeper pleading through the wire. Bertie said one kick of an ostrich can kill three horses. Then we got picked up by a sugar-daddy who took us to the club. Excellent food and you know there’s nothing really much the matter with South African wine.’
‘I know nothing of wine.’
‘The sugar-daddy explained they only send their bad vintages abroad and keep all the good to drink themselves. Bertie and Eddie went off with him afterwards to see vineyards. I went to the Art Gallery. They’ve two remarkable Noel Patons.’
‘I know nothing of art.’
‘Nor did Noel Paton. That’s the beauty of him.’
Bertie and Eddie came into the bar, huge, unsteady, rosy and smiling.
‘We’ve been sampling wine all the afternoon.’