Anthony Powell - The Military Philosophers

‘Listen to this,’ he said. ‘Tell me whether you believe it or not’

He was partly angry himself, partly unable not to laugh.

‘Let’s go and have lunch. I’ll tell you there.’

The story was certainly a strange one.

‘Szymanski’s out,’ said Pennistone.

‘Out of where?’

‘Jug.’

‘He’s escaped from the detention barracks?’

‘In a rather unusual way.’

‘Did he break out?’

‘He left by the front door.’

‘In disguise?’

‘It appears that first of all a certain amount of telephoning took place from the appropriate branches, Polish and British, saying that Szymanski’s conviction had been quashed and his case was to be reconsidered. Then two British officers arrived bearing the correct papers to obtain his body. Szymanski was accordingly handed over to their custody.’

‘This was bogus?’

‘The next thing was, Szymanski himself appeared shortly after at the prison, wearing the uniform of a British second-lieutenant and explaining that he knew the way to get out of anywhere. In fact, the prison hasn’t been invented that could keep him inside.’

‘Didn’t they lock him up again?’

‘They couldn’t. The documents made him a free man.’

‘What had happened?’

‘There were those who thought Szymanski’s outstanding qualities — not necessarily his most gentlemanly ones — might come in useful for a piece of work required.’

‘You mean some of our people?’

‘Possibly certain Polish elements were also sympathetic to the scheme. That’s not clear yet. It would have been easier to organize, had that been the case. However, one can’t be sure. Another country may be in on it too.’

‘Was this Sunny Farebrother’s crowd?’

‘It looks like it.’

‘With forged papers?’

‘Yes.’

‘Won’t there be the hell of a row?’

‘There will — and is. As liaison officer with the Poles, naturally I can only regard the whole affair as perfectly disgraceful. At the same time, one can’t help seeing it has its funny side.’

‘Finn must be having a fit.’

‘He’s beside himself.’

‘Is Sunny personally involved?’

‘So it’s believed — though he did not turn up himself at the prison gates.’

‘Is it known who did?’

‘One of them was called Stevens. I believe rather a tough nut, quite young, with an MC. He’s said to have been wounded in the Middle East, and came back to join Farebrother’s show.’

‘Odo Stevens?’

‘I don’t know his first name.’

‘Will they re-arrest Szymanski?’

‘How can they? He’s been disposed of abroad probably. Anyway undergoing training at some secret place.’

‘He’ll be dropped somewhere?’

‘To do something pretty unpleasant, I should imagine.’

‘And the Poles are angry?’

‘Our ones are livid. Can you blame them? I’ve never seen Bobrowski in such a state. It’s understandable. At one end of the scale, our authorities make a great parade of the letter of the Law. The Home Office, if it possibly can, displays its high-mindedness in hampering the smaller Allies from arresting their deserters — they’d be much too afraid to obstruct the Americans or Russians — then a thing like this happens. All we can do is to grin feebly, and say we hope no offence will be taken.’

Although this incident had its being in the half-light encompassing those under-the-counter activities from which Finn liked to keep his Section so rigorously apart, Finn himself, not to mention Pennistone, had to suffer most of the consequences of what had taken place, so far as the Polish authorities were concerned. They were not at all pleased, saying, not without reason, that a serious blow had been struck against discipline. The episode strongly suggested that the British, when it suited them, could carry disregard of all convention to inordinate lengths; indulge in what might be described as forms of military bohemianism of the most raffish sort. Finn was, of course, entirely on the Polish side in thinking that. It was hard that he himself should have to bear most of the brunt of their complaint. The undertaking was no less remarkable in that Farebrother, outwardly so conventional, was prepared to lend himself to such a plot. It was just another view as to how the war should be won; perhaps the right one.

‘A great illusion is that government is carried on by an infallible, incorruptible machine,’ Pennistone said. ‘Officials — all officials, of all governments — are just as capable of behaving in an irregular manner as anyone else. In fact they have the additional advantage of being able to assuage their conscience, if they happen to own one, by assuring themselves it’s all for the country’s good.’

I wondered if Pamela Flitton had known these monkey-tricks were on the way, when she had enquired about Szymanski. Her own exploits continued to be talked about. Clanwaert was the next Ally to mention her. That was a month or two later. We met one evening on the way back to the block of flats. Outwardly, Clanwaert suppressed any indication of the romanticism at which Kucherman had hinted. He had a moustache even larger than Gauthier de Graef’s, and an enormous nose to which it seemed attached, as if both were false. The nose was a different shape from Finn’s, making one think more of Cyrano de Bergerac. Clanwaert used to tap it, in the old-fashioned traditional gesture, when he knew the answer to some question. Like Kucherman, he talked excellent English, though with a thicker, more guttural accent, a habit of spitting all his words out making most of his remarks sound ironic. Perhaps that was intended. I asked if it were true he had fought his first battle in red breeches.

‘Not red , my friend — this is important — amaranthe . How do you say that in English?’

‘Just the same — amaranth.’

‘That’s the name of a colour?’

‘An English writer named St John Clarke called one of his books Fields of Amaranth . It was a novel. The flower is supposed to be unfading in legend. The other name for it in English is Love-lies-bleeding. Much play was made about these two meanings in the story.’

‘Love-lies-bleeding? That’s a strange name. Too good for a pair of breeches.’

‘Not if they were unfading.’

‘Nothing’s unfading, my friend,’ said Clanwaert ‘Nothing in Brussels, at least.’

‘I’ve enjoyed visits there before the war.’

‘It was a different city after ’14-’18. Most places were. That was why I transferred to la Force Publique. I can assure you the Congo was a change from la Porte Louise. For a long time, if you believe me, I was Elephant Officer. Something to hold the attention. I would not mind going back there at the termination of this war. Indeed, one may have no choice — be lucky if one reaches Africa. Nevertheless, there are times when the Blacks get on one’s nerves. One must admit that. Perhaps only because they look at the world in a different manner from us — maybe a wiser one. I shall be writing you another letter about those officers in the Congo who want a share in this war of ours. As I told you before, they feel out of it, afraid of people saying afterwards — “As for you, gentlemen, you were safe in the Congo.” It is understandable. All the same your High Command say they cannot see their way to employ these Congo officers. I understand that too, but I shall be writing you many letters on the subject. You must forgive me. By the way, I met a young lady last night who told me she knew you.’

‘Who was that?’

‘Mademoiselle Flitton.’

‘How was she?’

Clanwaert laughed, evidently aware of the impression the name would make.