Anthony Powell - The Valley of Bones

‘Something awful are the girls of this town,’ said Corporal Gwylt to the world at large, ‘never did I see such a way to go on.’

When we reached Battalion Headquarters, there was a message to say the Adjutant wanted an immediate word with Captain Gwatkin. Gwatkin returned from this interview with a set face. It looked as if subordinates might be in for a bad time, such as that after the Company’s failure to provide ‘support’. However, Gwatkin showed no immediate desire to get his own back on somebody, though he must have had an unenjoyable ten minutes with Maelgwyn-Jones. We set out on the day’s scheme, marching and countermarching across the mountains, infiltrating the bare, treeless fields. From start to finish, things went badly. In fact, it was a disastrous day. Still, as Maelgwyn-Jones had said, it passed, like other days in the army, and we returned at length to Castlemallock, bad-tempered and tired. Kedward and I were on the way to our room, footsore, longing to get our boots off, when we met Pinkus, the Adjutant-Quartermaster, the malignant dwarf from the Morte d’Arthur. His pleased manner showed there was trouble in the air. He had a voice of horrible refinement, which must have taken years to perfect, and somewhat recalled that of Howard Craggs, the left-wing publisher.

‘Where’s your Company Commander?’ asked Pinkus. ‘The Commandant wants him pronto.’

‘In his room, I suppose. The Company’s just been dismissed. He’s probably changing.’

‘What’s this about putting one of the officers of the course under arrest? The Commandant’s bloody well brassed off about it, I can tell you — and, what’s more, the Commandant’s own helmet is missing, too, and he thinks one of your fellows has taken it.’

‘Why on earth?’

‘Your Platoon falls in just outside his quarters.’

‘Much more likely to be one of the permanent staff on Fire Picquet. They pass just by the door.’

‘The Commandant doesn’t think so.’

‘I bet one of the Fire Picquet pinched it.’

‘The Commandant says he doesn’t trust your mob an inch.’

‘Why not?’

‘That’s what he says.’

‘If he wants to run down the Regiment, he’d better take it up with our Commanding Officer.’

‘Make enquiries, or there’ll be trouble. Now, where’s Gwatkin?’

He went off, mouthing refinedly to himself. I saw what had happened. In the stresses following realization that he had forgotten about the changed codewords, Gwatkin had also forgotten Bithel. During the exertions of the day in the field, I, too, had given no thought to the events of the previous night, at least none sufficient to consider how best the situation should be handled on our return. Now, back at Castlemallock, the Bithel problem loomed up ominously. Bad enough, in any case, to leave the matter unattended made it worse than ever. Even Kedward had no copybook solution.

‘My God,’ he said, ‘I suppose old Bith ought to have been under escort all day. Under my escort, too, if it comes to that. It was Rowland’s last order to me.’

‘Anyway, Bithel should have been brought up before the Commandant within twenty-four hours and charged, as a matter of routine. That’s the regulation, isn’t it?’

‘Twenty-four hours isn’t up yet.’

‘Still, it’s a bit late in the day.’

‘Rowland’s going to find this one tough to sort out.’

‘There’s nothing we can do about it.’

‘Look, Nick,’ said Kedward, ‘I’ll go off right away and see exactly what’s happened before I take my boots off. Christ, my feet feel like balloons.’

After a while, Kedward returned, saying Gwatkin was already with the Castlemallock Commandant, straightening out the Bithel affair. When I saw Gwatkin later, he looked desperately worried.

‘That business of Bithel last night,’ he said harshly.

‘Yes?’

‘We’d better forget about it.’

‘OK.’

‘This Anti-Gas course is almost at an end.’

‘Yes.’

‘Bithel goes back to the Battalion.’

‘He may be going up to Division.’

‘Bithel?’

‘Yes.’

‘What on earth for?’

‘To command the Mobile Laundry.’

‘I hadn’t heard that,’ said Gwatkin. ‘How do you know?’

‘Bithel himself told me.’

Gwatkin did not look best pleased, but he reserved judgment.

‘The CO will be glad to be rid of him,’ he said, ‘no doubt about that. The point of what I’m saying now is that Bithel may have made a bloody swine of himself last night, but it’s going to be too much of a business to see he gets his desserts.’

‘I can understand that.’

‘I suspect that Bithel himself got hold of the Mess waiter concerned. Between the two of them, they are prepared to swear that the whole thing was an accident. Bithel stayed in bed all day, saying he had ’flu.’

‘How did the Commandant know about the arrest?’

‘It leaked out. He seemed to think I’d been officious. I suppose he was just waiting to get something back on me for trying to prevent him from standing between me and my own men and their training. He said Bithel may have had a few drinks, even too many, but, after all, he’d been through the gas-chamber, and, as it turned out, was also sickening for ’flu. The Commandant said, too, he didn’t want a row of that undesirable sort at his School of Chemical Warfare. He’d already had trouble about that particular Mess waiter, and, if it came up for court-martial, there might be a real stink.’

‘Probably just as well to drop the whole affair.’

Gwatkin sighed.

‘Do you think that too, Nick?’

‘I do.’

‘Then you really don’t care about discipline either,’ said Gwatkin. ‘That’s what it means. You’re like the rest. Well, well, few officers seem to these days — or even decent behaviour.’

He spoke without bitterness, just regret. All the same, it was perhaps a relief to him — as it certainly was to everyone else — that the Bithel charge should be dropped. However, matters had gone too far at the outset for the whole story to be suppressed. Its discussion throughout the Castlemallock garrison eventually spread to the Battalion; no doubt, in due course, to the ears of the Commanding Officer. Bithel himself, as usual, took the whole business in his stride.

‘I made a proper fool of myself that night,’ he said to me, just before he left Castlemallock. ‘Ought to stick to beer really. Whiskey is always a mistake on top of gin-and-orange. Might have messed up my chances of getting that command. Captain Gwatkin does go off the deep-end, though. Never know what he’s going to do next. The Commandant was very decent. Saw my side. War news doesn’t look too good, does it? What do you think about Italy coming in? Just a lot of ice-creamers, that’s my opinion.’

Then, one sweltering afternoon, returning with the Platoon after practising attack under cover of a smokescreen, I found several things had happened which altered the pattern of life. When I went into the Company Office, Gwatkin and Kedward were both there. They were standing facing each other. Even as I came through the door and saluted, disturbance was in the air. In fact tension could be described as acute. Gwatkin was pale, Kedward rather red in the face. Neither of them spoke. I made some casual remark about the afternoon’s training. This was ignored by Gwatkin. There was a pause. I wondered what had gone wrong. Then Gwatkin spoke in his coldest, most military voice.

‘There will be some changes announced in Part II Orders next week, Nick,’ he said.

‘Yes?’

‘You’ll like to know them before they appear officially.’

I could not imagine why all this to-do should be made; why, if there were to be changes, Gwatkin could not quite simply state what the changes were, instead of behaving as if about to notify me that the British Government had surrendered, and Kedward and I were to make immediate arrangements for our platoons to become prisoners-of-war. He paused again. Behaviour like this was hard on the nerves.