The Military Philosophers - Anthony Powell [37]
The first day at Eaton Square – by then almost a preserve of the Belgian ministries – the name of Sir Magnus Donners did indeed crop up. He had been in the headlines that morning on account of some more or less controversial statement made in public on the subject of manpower. Kucherman referred to this item of news, mentioning at the same time that he had once lunched at Stourwater. We talked about the castle. I asked if, since arrival in England, he had seen Sir Magnus. Kucherman laughed.
‘A member of your Cabinet does not want to be bothered by a major in one of the smaller Allied contingents.’
‘All the same, it might be worth while letting him know you are here.’
‘You think so?’
‘Sure of it.’
‘Certainly he showed great interest in Belgium when we met – knowledge of Belgian affairs. You know Belgium yourself?’
‘I’ve been there once or twice. When my father was at the War Office, I remember him bringing two Belgian officers to our house. It was a great excitement.’
‘Your father was officier de carrière?’
‘He’d come back from Paris, where he’d been on the staff of the Peace Conference. By the way, several Belgian officers are living at the same block of flats as myself. I don’t know any of them.’
Cucherman asked the name of the place.
‘Ah, yes,’ he said. ‘Clanwaert is there. You will be dealing with him about Congo matters. An amusing fellow.’
‘I have an appointment with him tomorrow.’
‘He was formerly in the Premier Regiment des Guides – like your Life Guards, one might say. I believe he fought his first engagement in 1914 wearing what was almost their parade uniform – green tunic, red breeches, all that. Then a love affair went wrong. He transferred to La Force Publique. A dashing fellow with a romantic outlook. That was why he never married.’
The Force Publique was the Congo army, quite separate from the Belgian army, officered somewhat on the lines, so it seemed, of our own Honourable East India Company’s troops in the past.
‘Kucherman’s going to be all right,’ said Finn.
Even Gauthier de Graef, who had all his countrymen’s impatience with other people’s methods, and would not have hesitated to grumble about his new chief, agreed with that judgment. He was a tall young man with a large moustache, who, after a frantic drive to the coast to catch up the remnant of the Belgian forces embarked for England, had jumped the last yard or so over water, as the boat had already set sail from harbour.
‘I needed a drink after that,’ he said. ‘A long one, let me assure you.’
I was just off to see Kucherman or Hlava one morning, when General Bobrowski was put through on my telephone. Bobrowski, even for himself, was in a tremendous state of excitement. He explained that he had been unable to make contact with Finn, and now he was told that neither Pennistone nor Slade were available. It was a matter of the most urgent importance that he had an appointment with Finn as soon as possible. He appealed to me as Pennistone’s former assistant in Polish liaison. Finn was at that moment with one of the brigadiers; Pennistone probably at the Titian – where it was quite likely he would learn of whatever was on Bobrowski’s mind – and Slade was no doubt somewhere in the building negotiating with another section. Slade returned at that moment and I handed Bobrowski over to him. I wondered what the trouble was. Bobrowski became easily excited, but this seemed exceptional. Pennistone outlined the enormity on my return.
‘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.