The Soldier's Art - Anthony Powell [17]
“May I go and see how the Defence Platoon is getting on, sir?”
General Liddament appeared not to have heard. Then, with an effort, he jerked himself from out of his deep contemplation. It was like asking permission from one of the supine bodies in an opium den. He took a few seconds more to come to, consider the question. When he spoke it was with almost biblical solemnity.
“Go, Jenkins, go. No officer of mine shall ever be hindered from attending to the needs of his men.”
A sergeant entered the room at that moment and approached the General.
“Just come through on the W/T, sir, enemy planes over the town again.”
“Right – take routine action.”
The sergeant retired. I followed him out into a narrow passage where my equipment hung from a hook. Then, buckling on belt and pouches, I made for the outbuildings. Most of the platoon were pretty comfortable in a loft piled high with straw, some of them snoring away. Sergeant Harmer was about to turn in himself, leaving things in the hands of Corporal Mantle. I ran through the matter of sentry duties. All was correct.
“Just come through they’re over the town again, Sergeant.”
“Are they again, the buggers.”
Harmer, a middle-aged man with bushy eyebrows, largely built, rather slow, given to moralising, was in civilian life foreman in a steel works.
“We haven’t got to wake up for them to-night.”
“It’s good that, sir, besides you never know they won’t get you.”
“True enough.”
“Ah, you don’t, life’s uncertain, no mistake. Here to-day, gone to-morrow. After my wife went to hospital last year the nurse met me, I asked how did the operation go, she didn’t answer, said the doctor wanted a word, so I knew what he was going to say. Only the night before when I’d been with her she said ‘I think I’ll get some new teeth.’ We can’t none of us tell.”
“No, we can’t.”
Even the first time I had been told the teeth story, I could think of no answer than that.
“I’ll be getting some sleep. All’s correct and Corporal Mantle will take over.”
“Good night, Sergeant.”
Corporal Mantle remained. He wanted to seize this opportunity for speaking a word in private about the snag arisen about his candidature for a commission. Colonel Hogbourne-Johnson had decided to make things as difficult as possible. Mantle was a good N.C.O. Nobody wanted to lose him. Indeed, Colonel Hogbourne-Johnson had plans to promote him sergeant, eventually perhaps sergeant-major, when opportunity arose to get rid of Harmer, not young enough or capable of exceptional energy, even if he did the job adequately. Widmerpool, through whom such matters to some extent circulated, was not interested either way in what happened to Mantle. He abetted Hogbourne-Johnson’s obstructive tactics in that field, partly as line of least resistance, partly because he was himself never tired of repeating the undeniable truth that the army is an institution directed not towards the convenience of the individual, but to the production of the most effective organisation for an instrument designed to win wars.
“At the present moment there are plenty of young men at O.C.T.U.s who are potentially good officers,” Widmerpool said. “Good corporals, on the other hand, are always hard to come by. That situation could easily change. If we get a lot of casualties, it will change so far as officers are concerned – though no doubt good corporals will be harder than ever to find. In the last resort, of course, officer material is naturally limited to the comparatively small minority who possess the required qualifications – and do not suppose for one moment that I presume that minority to come necessarily, even primarily, from the traditional officer class. On the contrary.”
“But Mantle doesn’t come from what you call the traditional officer class. His father keeps a newspaper shop and he himself has some small job in local government.”
“That’s as may be,” said Widmerpool, “and more power to his elbow. Mantle’s a good lad. At the same time I see no reason for treating Mantle’s case with undue bustle. As I’ve said before, I have no great opinion of Hogbourne-Johnson