The Valley of Bones - Anthony Powell [91]
‘I hear you’re leaving the Battalion too, Sergeant-Major.’
‘That I am, sir.’
‘I expect you’re sorry to go.’
‘I am that, sir, and then I’m not. Nice to see home again, that will be, but there needs promotion for these younger lads that must be getting on.’
‘Who is going to take your place?’
‘It will be Sergeant Humphries, I do believe.’
‘I hope Humphries does the job as well as you have.’
‘Ah, well, sir, Humphries is a good NCO, and he should be all right, I do think.’
‘Thank you for all your help.’
‘Oh, it was a pleasure, sir …’
Before CSM Cadwallader could say more – not a man to take lightly opportunity to speak at length on the occasion of such a leave-taking, he was certainly going to say more, much more – Corporal Gwylt came running up. He saluted perfunctorily. Evidently I was not the object of his approach. He was tousled and out of breath.
‘Excuse me, sir, may I speak to the Sergeant-Major?’
‘Go ahead.’
Gwylt could hardly contain his indignation.
‘Somebody’s broke in and stole the Company’s butter, Sergeant-Major, and the lock’s all bust and the wire ripped out of the front of the meat-safe where it was put, and the Messing Corporal do think it be that bugger Sayce again that has taken the butter to flog it, so will you come and see right away, the Messing Corporal says, that we have your witness, Sergeant-Major, if there’s a Summary of Evidence like there was those blankets …’
CSM Cadwallader shortened his speech in preparation to a mere goodbye and grip of the hand. There was no alternative in the circumstances. He looked disappointed, but characteristically put duty before even the most enjoyably sententious of valedictions. He and Corporal Gwylt hurried off together. By this time the truck that was to take me to Divisional Headquarters had driven up. An NCO was parading the men who were to travel up in it for medical treatment. Gwatkin appeared. He had been busy all the morning, but had promised he would turn up to see me off. We talked for a minute or two about Company arrangements, revisions proposed by Kedward. Gwatkin had resumed his formality of manner.
‘Perhaps you’ll arrive at the ITC yourself, Nick,’ he said, ‘on the way to something better, of course, but it’s used as a place of transit. I trust I’ll be gone by then, but it would be good to meet.’
‘We may both turn up on the same staff,’ I said, without great seriousness.
‘No,’ he said gravely, ‘I’ll never get on the staff. I don’t mind that. All I want is to carry out regimental duties properly.’
He tapped his gaiter with the swagger stick he carried. Then his tone changed.
‘I had some rather bad news from home this morning,’ he said.
‘You’re not in luck.’
‘My father-in-law passed away. I think I told you he had been ill for some time.’
‘You did. I’m sorry. Did you get on very well with him?’
‘Pretty well,’ said Gwatkin, ‘but this will mean Blodwen’s mother will have to move in with us. I like her all right, but I’d rather that didn’t have to happen. Look, Nick, you won’t speak to anyone about last night.’
‘Of course not.’
‘It was bloody awful,’ he said.
‘Of course.’
‘But a lesson to me.’
‘One never takes lessons to heart. It’s just a thing people talk about – learning by experience and all that.’
‘Oh, but I do take lessons to heart,’ he said. ‘What do you think then?’
‘That one just gets these knocks from time to time.’
‘You believe that?’
‘Yes.’
‘You really believe that everyone has that sort of thing happen to them?’
‘In different ways.’
Gwatkin considered the matter for a moment.
‘I don’t know,’ he said, ‘I can’t help thinking it was just because I was such a bloody fool, what with Maureen and making a balls of the Company too. I thought at least I was being some good as a soldier, but I was bloody wrong.’
I thought of Pennistone and his quotations from Vigny.
‘A French writer who’d been a regular officer said the whole point of soldiering was its bloody boring side. The glamour, such as it was, was just a bit of exceptional luck if it came your way.’
‘Did he?’ said Gwatkin.
He spoke without a vestige of interest. I was impressed for the ten thousandth time by the fact that literature illuminates life only for those to whom books are a necessity. Books are unconvertible assets, to be passed on only to those who possess them already. Before I could decide whether it was worth making a final effort to ram home Vigny