THE CINDER PATH (27 page)

whole battalion. He watched i the R.s.m.

strutting about like a stuffed [peacock, and the company sergeant-majors folI lowing suit, for all the world

like dominating

cocks shooing their families together. The

lance-corporals acting as markers, the corporals

and sergeants were outdoing themselves in throat-tearing commands.

. . . And the officers, the second-lieutenants,

the lieutenants, the captains, all batmen-spit

and polished; and standing apart, yet commanding the whole, was the major.

Charlie's eyes were fixed tight on him. Although

he couldn't make out his face from this distance

he told himself he didn't look any different in

his clothes.

In his clothes!

Would anybody believe him if he were to tell them

that that dominating figure was the man who was to be the means of getting him his freedom. . . . But

wait! what had he let himself in for! Could he do it

now?

Orders were ringing out: "By the right quick march! Left!

right. Left! right." A band was playing, the mass was moving, feet were stamping, arms swinging: rank after

rank disappeared, until, just as if a wave had

washed over the place, the square was empty.

In the strange silence, he again asked himself the

question, Could he do it now? Could he name the major?

If he did his promotion would likely be squashed;

these

things could be fixed. But say he were still allowed to get his commission, life would become unbearable when the

story got around. He was wise enough to know you got no medals for disgracing a major, and under such

circumstances.

And then there was Slater.

You're a loser; you were born a loser.

No, if it meant being tied

to Victoria for life, well, that would have to be.

Anything was preferable to being the butt of Slater's

maliciousness which, were he to return to the platoon now as a private, would mean one or the other of them ending the conflict.

He straightened his shoulders, picked up his gear,

and walked out of the hut, across the square, through the alleyway, around the circle of lawn and up the

steps and into the wartime life of an officer.

T

IHE second-lieutenant looked extremely

smart. He was unusually tall but he was straight with

it. When he was saluted in the street he answered the

gesture almost as smartly as it was given. But he'd

have to get out of that; Radlett had hinted as much.

He liked Radlett, at least he didn't

dislike him; but he wasn't at all keen on

Lieutenant Calthorpe; very old school,

Calthorpe, without the good manners one would expect

from that kind of upbringing. He spoke to some of the men as if they were serfs.

The captain was as different again, a very understandable fellow Captain Blackett; but the

major, oh, the major, he talked as if he were still

in the Boer War. Radlett said openly he was a

fumbling old duffer.

It was funny, Charlie thought, how some people were able to voice their opinions of others and get off with it.

For instance now if he had called the major a

fumbling old duffer ten to one he would have been up on the

carpet before his breath had cooled. Radlett acted

and talked like an old hand but he was almost as new to the game as he himself was.

As he left the Central Station to board a bus

that would take him across the water to Nellie's, the

glow that had been with him since early morning began

to fade. Another man in his position would be making for home. He had two homes but he was going to neither:

the home among the hills was too far away to get

there and back comfortably in a forty-eight.

Moreover, you had to chance getting transport. And the

home where his wife resided was barred to him now for good and all. So there remained only Nellie's; and

even about this visit he was feeling a little trepidation, for he hadn't done as he promised and written

to her.

It had been understandable in the first two or

three weeks because everything had moved so fast. He

had been kept at it all waking hours. They

called it a crash course in pips, and it was

certainly that all right, for as Radlett so

grotesquely illustrated in his garrulous way, the

only thing they didn't ram into you was how to die with your guts hanging out. Did you yell, "Carry on,

men!" before you pushed them back, or let them

drip as you waved your fellows on crying, "Good

luck! chaps."

Anyway, he had forty-eight hours and he was

going to enjoy it. Why not? He would take Nellie

out. Knowing Nellie, she'd get quite a kick out of his

change in fortune. But then it might not come as a

surprise to her after all, because if she had visited

home and run into Betty, Betty would surely have

told her. Yet again it had been a good three

weeks before he had informed Betty of his change in

position. Still, he was looking forward to seeing

Nellie.

A passenger walking down the aisle happened

to catch the end of the cane that lay across Charlie's

knees, and when he had retrieved it from the floor and

handed it back to him, saying, "I'm sorry, sir,"

Charlie smiled at him and said, "That's

all right," and the man jerked his chin and smiled back, saying, "Good-day to you."

"And to you."

Amazing the difference a pip made and, of course,

the style of the uniform, the leather belt and the rakish cap, not forgetting the trench coat. Oh yes, the

trench coat finished the ensemble off.

But let him be honest with himself. He

liked the difference it made and the deference it commanded.

He had felt a different being since first donning this

uniform; it had magical properties, it enabled one

to issue orders, although until now he had been

mostly on the receiving end. Even so, when he'd had

to deal with the men in the platoon to which he had been assigned, he had carried it off all right.

He felt that in a way he had an advantage

over the other officer trainees for he was the only one of his bunch who had served in the ranks, so he

prided himself that he knew how the men would view him, and above all things at this period he wanted their

opinion to be, "Oh, he's a decent enough bloke.

Mister MacFell."

Second-Lieutenant. How long would it be before

he was fully fledged? Was it as Radlett said, you

only stepped up when the other chap above you

fell down dead? Radlett had the uncanny

knack of putting his finger on the realities; it was a

known fact that there was rapid promotion on the

battlefield. Well, he didn't want his

promotion that way, so he'd better make up his

mind to be satisfied to stay as he was. . . .

The twilight was deepening as he neared

Nellie's house and it had begun to drizzle.

Before going up the steps he adjusted his cap, then

his collar, and finally tucked his cane under his arm.

On entering the hall he was assailed by the usual

smell of stale cooking, and he thought for a moment,

Why does she stay here, there's no need? She could

let her flat and get a better place.

He rapped smartly on the door!

Rat-a-tattat! Rat-a-tat-tat! drew himself

up to his full height and waited.

Again he knocked, louder this time, and when there was no reply his shoulders took on a slight droop.

He was knocking for the third time when a voice

came from the stairway to his right, saying, "It's no use knocking there."

He walked to the foot of the stairs and looked

upwards. A woman was leaning over the banisters and

as he stared up at her she said, "I'm

sick of telling 'em, one after the other, it's no

use knocking there. They should put a notice up."

Slowly he mounted the stairs until his face was

directly below that of the woman's, and now he said,

"She's left?"

"Left! I don't know so much about leaving,

I'll say this much for her, she tried to. No, she

didn't leave, they carried her out."

"What do you mean, she's not . . . ?"

"Well, it isn't her fault. She tried hard

enough, and she might be even yet for all I know."

He now ran up the remainder of the stairs and round

on to the landing until he faced the woman and, his tone brisk now, appealed, "Please explain; she . .

. she was a dear friend of mine."

"She was a dear friend of everybody's if you ask

me."

"She's my sister-in-law."

"Is she? Oh, well, you got the gist didn't

you? She tried to do away with herself, gassed herself.

They all use gas, it must be the easiest way.

..."

"When did this happen?"

"Oh, four days ago. And it was someone like you

knocking on the door that saved her, one of

her pals." The woman now peered up at Charlie

and demanded, "Why wasn't she taken in hand? A

bit of a lass like that on her own. And then them there every night. I tackled her about it once and she invited

me in with them. Mind, I didn't go, but she said it

was tea and buns and a bit of a sing-song,

TCP 11

that was all. Well, I ask you. Anyway, she was

off work for a week, cold or something, and it was

likely being on her own got her down. One of her

pals came up and asked me to look in on her.

Well, I did; but I couldn't keep it up for

I'm out all day you see, munitions, and I've

got two bairns and I've got to pick them up from

me mother's every night. Anyway, I came in this

night and there were these two sergeants hammering on the door. They were the same ones that asked me to go in and see to her. And then they said they could smell gas.

Well, that's about it. They did smell gas. Then

there was the divil's fagarties: the doctor, the

polis, the ambulance." "Where is she now?" "Still in hospital, I should say." "Do you know which one?"

"Not really; it'll be the infirmary likely." He turned from her without saying, "Thank you", but the look that he left with her caused her to lean over

the banisters and yell after him. "Don't take it out on me mister! Anyway she brought it on herself,

drink and men. Can't tell me it was all tea and

buns and ..."

Her voice faded away as he banged the door

closed behind him.

Neighbours! Someone lying alone ill in a room and

nobody bothering, except the soldiers. Even

back on the hills, even as dour as some of them

were, they would travel miles in all weathers

to give a helping hand to each other in times of trouble; and in the poorer quarters of the town, in the

back-tobacks, he'd like to bet no one would have lain

for a day without someone coming in.

It was in the third hospital he visited that he

found her. He could have found out immediately by going to the police station, but somehow he baulked at this for it would be admitting that she had by her action touched on something criminal.

Yes, a stiff-faced nurse said, they had a

Miss Chapman here, but it was long past visiting

hours; and moreover, she was under surveillance and rather ill. Was he a relation?

"Yes," he said; "I'm her brother-in-law and I'm on a short leave. I'd

appreciate it if I could see her for a moment or

so."

He had to pass the staff-nurse, then the night

sister before he was admitted to the small side ward,

and then he was told briefly, "Ten minutes at the

most."

The nurse stood aside and allowed him to enter; the

door closed behind him; and then he was standing in the small, naked room, where the green-painted walls

lent a hue to everything, even to the face on the

pillow.

He walked slowly to the bedside. On closer

inspection he saw that the face wasn't green, but

white, a dull, pasty white, and so much had it

altered since he had last seen it that he thought for a moment there had been a mistake and he had been shown

the wrong patient. That was until the eyes opened, and

then there was Nellie looking up at him. The

expression in her eyes remained slightly vacant

for a moment or so; then he watched her lids slowly

widen and her lips part three times before she whispered,

"Charlie."

He did not speak for he was finding it impossible

at the moment to utter a word, but he bent over her and clasped her hands between his own.

"Charlie."

He nodded at her now.

"Thought. . . thought you'd gone." Her voice was like a croak.

He shook his head slowly.

"Forgotten me."

"No . . . held up ... one thing and another."

They continued to stare at each other; then without

letting go of one hand he turned and pulled a chair

to the side of the bed and sat down, and as he leant

towards her she muttered hoarsely, "Know what I

did?"

For answer he said softly, "Forget about it;

you're going to be all right."

He now took his handkerchief and wiped the gleaming

blobs of sweat from her brow, then he tucked the

bedclothes closer around her chin, and as he did so he

felt the steam from her body on his hand. She was ill,

very ill and so changed. Of a sudden he wanted to gather her into his arms and comfort her, soothe her, saying,