A Breed of Heroes (17 page)

Charles reported to the adjutant, Colin Wood. Colin, who had left the Army to go into business and had rejoined it after marrying, looked as weary and long-suffering as might be expected of
anyone who worked closely with the CO. But he had a reputation for competence and sanity, and his face was kindly. Having been outside the Army, he did not regard all civilians as odd nor all
subalterns as criminally irresponsible. ‘Nice to have you with us, Charles,’ he said, balancing on the rear legs of his chair and clasping his hands behind his head. ‘We could do
with a new face round here. You’ve got a pretty cushy job, but apart from that it’s all bad news. You’re sharing a bedroom with Tony Watch and an office with me. You’re on
the list for watchkeeping in the ops room, which means three eight-hour shifts a week – six till two, two till ten, ten till six. You also have to help me deal with complaints from the
locals, of which there are many, and you have some sort of responsibility under Anthony Hamilton-Smith for community relations. Though I don’t think there’s too much of that going on.
There’s a telly in the Mess, which sometimes works, the food’s awful and we’re still not allowed gravy. You have to wear a pistol and carry ammunition at all times, including in
the bath if you can find one, so better draw one from the armoury. We’re not allowed out, of course, except on duty, and the press, I’m told, can be very difficult. If anyone in the
battalion cocks it up the CO will hold you responsible. Apart from all that it’s heaven.’

Colin’s office was on the first floor of the building above the entrance, overlooking the street. The police station had been built during the late 1950s and, like many of Ulster’s
police stations, was halfway towards being a fortified barracks from its very inception. There were steel shutters on all the windows through which the defenders could fire, if necessary, by
sliding little peep-holes to one side. The office floor, Charles was told, was eighteen inches of reinforced concrete and supposed to be blast-proof. Surprisingly, though, the entrance to the
police reception area was unguarded – on orders from some civilian official, who was anxious that members of the public should not feel intimidated in coming to police stations. There was an
Army guard inside, however. It did not take Charles long to settle in, if dumping his kit on a bed in the corner of a disused office could be called settling in. At least this time the bed was a
real one, with blankets and sheets.

Charles was then sent down to the military hospital to be ‘put in the picture’ – a very common phrase – about his new duties by Philip Lamb. Philip was in a junior
officers’ ward for not too serious cases, a quiet and lightly populated place. His right foot was bandaged and supported. He was propped up on pillows, reading David Stirling’s account
of the formation of the Long Range Desert Patrol Group, later to become the Special Air Service. Philip was one of the few officers Charles had met who seemed to take a serious interest in war. His
neat, precise face looked as worried and anxious as usual but he smiled when he saw Charles. ‘I’m so glad it’s you,’ he said. ‘Do sit down. The CO was going to appoint
Chatsworth, of all people. Can you imagine? He’d kill somebody, he’s so tactless. I sent a message to him through Colin saying that you were the only officer in the battalion who could
read English, let alone write it. He must have listened to me for once. Because, of course, it is a job that requires a certain amount of judgment, as you’ll have gathered, and you have to be
able to see things from the point of view of a civilian. It’s ridiculous to suppose that most of our comrades-in-arms could ever do that. You were the obvious choice. Of course, your
problem’s the other way round, if anything. You’ll have no problem about not being too military but you mustn’t let them forget that you are in the Army. Hope you don’t mind
being pushed into it like this?’

‘It didn’t take much pushing. I was only too pleased to get out of the Factory.’

‘Of course, yes. Must’ve been rather grim there. I’m sorry to leave the job, to be honest. I didn’t want to. I could’ve come back when I’m better but the CO
didn’t seem to want me. I think he’s rather angry about what I did, though it could have happened to anyone, as far as I can see. Just one of those things.’ He closed his book and
changed his position carefully. ‘There are a few perks to the job, you know, apart from meeting the journalists, who are very nice. You can occasionally put on civilian clothes and visit
their offices, and you don’t have to do watchkeeping.’

‘I do.’

‘Do you really?’ Philip looked puzzled. ‘I never did. Perhaps they didn’t trust me. Anyway, you’ll find all the necessary files in my office, as well as a kind of
Who’s Who of the press in Northern Ireland. The PR desk at HQ are also very helpful. That’s another little swan you can arrange for yourself – visits to them. Not that
they’re a waste of time, far from it. But it’s just very good to get out of battalion HQ now and again. Clears the cobwebs of the mind a little and even breathes hope of life into the
soul. Perhaps that’s going a bit far, but you know what I mean. It’s good to get out.’

‘Thanks. What about the press themselves?’

‘Very charming on the whole. I think so, anyway. Of course, you have to protect them from the CO. He can be quite beastly and ruin in a minute all the good-will you’ve built up over
a month. Actually, I think he’s terrified of them, though there are a couple you have to be careful with, I must admit. There’s one called Brian Beazely who’s the most awful
incompetent, drunken bore, to be avoided because he’s a nuisance rather than malicious – has been known to misquote rather embarrassingly. And then no one ever believes your side of it.
They all think you must have said whatever it was because it’s there in print. Such is the power of Master Caxton. And the other one to watch for is Colm McColm of the
Gazette
, the
Southern Irish Gazette
. He’s very anti, and the trouble with him is he’ll quote you exactly, which is almost as bad. Very pro-IRA. Probably in it, for all I know. He can hear a
whisper from two streets away, so watch him. Always asks awkward questions in public.’

‘Where do you meet them?’

‘Oh, they’ll come to you. You’ll get to know them soon enough.’ He fidgeted a little with the bedclothes and Charles was about to ask him about his foot, which he would
have done before had Philip not been so eager to talk about the job, when he continued morosely: ‘I suppose you’ll have my pistol. I’m sure there’s something wrong with it,
you know. I wish they’d let me just have another look at it. I took it on the range four times and it misfired on three. Then it fires when it shouldn’t. The armourer examined it and
said it was just me but I don’t think he was interested, so do be careful, Charles. As it was, I was rather lucky. Apparently, I’ll be all right, but I’ll have to learn to walk
again, they tell me. It was the first time I’d ever hit anything with it.’

Charles tried to be cheerful. ‘Perhaps you’ll get compensation. Terrorists do, don’t they? So there’s no reason why you shouldn’t.’

‘If I did it might go some way towards paying the fine, but I don’t suppose I shall. I mean, they look at it differently if you do it yourself. I’ve found my insurance
doesn’t cover it either. D’you know, the CO was going to charge me with self-inflicted injury, a court-martial offence, I think? I had to fill in no end of forms to prove it
wasn’t deliberate, though how they prove anything, I don’t know.’

Philip was looking increasingly miserable. Charles made another effort. ‘What are the other people in here like?’

‘Oh, all right, I s’pose. Usual sorts, you know. Trouble is, they were all shot by someone else. It makes a difference. That I wasn’t and that I am the education officer has
become something of a joke. The whole hospital knows about it and all the visitors. Some of them even come to see me and laugh. I think it’s all a little insensitive to be honest.’

Philip had been a joke in the battalion ever since joining it, and his manner of leaving delighted nearly everyone. However, he was soon forgotten about by all except Charles, who was really no
more at home with a pistol than Philip had been and who feared daily to share his predecessor’s fate. Though less cumbersome and heavy than the rifle he had been used to, the disadvantage of
the Browning was that it had to be carried at all times, with two full magazines of ammunition, on pain of a heavy fine. It was so odd to be taking a pistol to the bath, or tucking it under the
pillow, that it was not difficult to remember it on these occasions. The difficulty was to remember it at the meal-table or at the desk. When indoors Charles generally wore it tied around his waist
or in his pocket and when out he wore it in its holster in the cross-draw position, mainly because it was more comfortable to sit in the Land-Rover with it that way round. Either way, it was a
mental as well as a physical burden, and he felt some rare sympathy for the gun-toting boys who were supposed to be trying to kill him. At least he did not have to hide it as well as remember
it.

The CO’s briefing for his new job took place over dinner that night. The Mess was a small room adjacent to the ops room, from which the mush and crackle of the radios never ceased. Meals
were eaten at a table behind a partition and were served from a hot-plate, as the cookhouse was at the far end of the building.

‘Good to have you with us, Thoroughgood,’ the CO said as they helped themselves to soup. ‘Makes a change from the Factory, doesn’t it?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘If only the public knew what a pittance we pay our soldiers and what these blasted car-workers and miners and what have you get for kicking their heels and complaining because they have
to work at all. Eh?’

‘Yes, sir.’

They sat and the CO called for some wine ‘Must have some plonk to wash it down with. We take it in turns to buy every night. Your turn tomorrow, Charles.’ He laughed and the others
at the table laughed with him, except Colin Wood, who raised his eyebrows at Charles and shrugged discreetly. When he had finished laughing the CO continued. ‘Reason I picked you for this job
– which is a vitally important one and is becoming more so every day’ – his stomach hardened and he held his chest for a moment’s indigestion, before continuing to pour out
the wine – ‘God, it’s an important job. This PR business is taking us all over, you know. We’re fighting a politician’s war now, not a soldier’s war, as I keep
saying till I’m blue in the face. Not even a decent shooting war, nothing to get stuck into. Aden and Borneo were different, of course, farther away, much easier. Government doesn’t
like shit on its own doorstep but that’s its problem, not ours. We’ve got them over a barrel this time. They can’t pull out of this one. But we must keep our noses clean, which is
why I chose you, Charles. Bit of tact. The soft touch. Besides which, you’re the only one of my subalterns whom I was sure could read and write. No names, no pack drill, but some of them
graze their knuckles on the ground when they walk – not that they won’t make good officers, mind, in time. First-rate some of them, what the regiment needs. And I imagine you must have
met some of these journalist types at university, or something like them anyway. Same sort of animal. What’s-his-name – old doings – Philip Lamb – gave you a decent
briefing, did he? Good. Well, you’ll have your own vehicle, one of my escorts, so you can swan around and deal with these people when you’re not out with me. Keep them off my back and
off the backs of my soldiers, that’s the main thing. No one in the battalion, including myself, will talk to any member of the press unless you are present. Got that? You will make sure that
no one says anything bloody stupid and that nothing’s wheedled out of them. You can’t be too careful with some of these bloody journalists. You will also keep a sharp eye out for any of
these directional microphones I keep hearing about and make sure no one says anything they shouldn’t when they’re around. And, of course, you’d better watch your own step when
you’re talking to these chaps. Remember that the American Army’s effort in Vietnam was ruined because they had to cope with the press as well. Point is, Charles, if anything goes wrong
I’ll know who to blame. Okay? Good. You’re responsible for community relations, under the 2IC. He’ll brief you on that separately.’ The CO raised his glass. ‘Best of
luck, and don’t blow your foot off.’

Tony Watch, the signals officer with whom Charles shared his bedroom, was a brisk, chubby, cheerful man with a moustache. He seemed to be energetically efficient, enjoyed his signals and enjoyed
his pipe, which he smoked nearly all the time. He was married but it was some weeks before Charles discovered that. Tony was not a man to talk about himself. Indeed, he had little to say about most
things, though he was prepared to comment briefly on anything. His views on most subjects boiled down to a simple choice of either/or; you could always have one thing or another but you could never
have both, and you were darned lucky if you could even choose which; on the whole, you just had to like it and lump it, whatever it was.

Tony was already in bed when Charles decided to turn in. He was reading a car magazine and smoking his pipe. ‘Hope you don’t mind the pipe,’ he said. ‘Say if you do.
Can’t sleep without a pipe before bed. Can’t open the windows because of these shutters. Though yours hasn’t got one, has it? So you could. Might get shot, I
s’pose.’

There was a window above each bed, and Tony’s, as with every other window in the building, had a steel shutter over it which had to be shut whenever there was a light in the room.
Charles’s was the exception: no shutter and no sign of there ever having been one.

‘Don’t understand that,’ said Tony, taking his pipe out of his mouth and craning his neck. ‘Only thing you can do is stuff your kitbag in it. Not that that would stop a
peashooter, but it’ll make you feel better. You’ll just have to be a bit careful how you get in and out of bed and not hang around with the light on.’

The bed was parallel with the wall, and the window was about halfway along it. The room was so small that there was nowhere else to put the bed. That night, and for the rest of his time there,
Charles entered his bed from the bottom, sliding on his belly like a snake. He left it each morning by lowering himself off the side.