The Valley of Bones (10 page)

‘Oh, I do like
to ride in a smart motor-car,’ said Corporal Gwylt. ‘A real pleasure it is to
spin along.’

Sergeant
Pendry, usually as noisy as any of them, sat silent at the back of the bus, looking
as if he might vomit at any moment. Outside, it was raining as usual. We drove
across a desolate plain set against a background of vast grey skies, arriving
at our destination an hour or two later. Gwatkin had gone ahead in his Company
Commander’s truck. He was waiting impatiently by the road when the platoons
arrived.

‘Get the men
off the buses at once,’ he said, ‘and on to the other side of the road – and
get some ack-ack defence out, and an
anti-gas scout – and have the buses facing up the lane
towards that tree, with No. 2 Platoon’s vehicle at the head,
not where it is now. Do that right away. Then send a runner to B Company to
cancel the earlier message that we are
going to recce the country on the left flank between us. That order has been
changed to the right flank. Now, I want to
say a word of warning to all Platoon
Commanders before I attend the Commanding Officer’s conference for Company
Commanders. I wish to make clear that I am not at all satisfied so far today.
You’ve none of you shown any drive up to date. It’s a bad show. You’ve got to
do better, or there will be trouble. Understand? Right. You can rejoin your
platoons.’

He had draped
a rubber groundsheet round him like a cloak, which, with his flattish-brimmed
steel helmet, transformed him into a figure from the later Middle Ages, a
captain-of-arms of the Hundred Years War, or the guerrilla campaigning of Owen
Glendower. I suddenly saw that was where Gwatkin belonged, rather than to the
soldiery of modern times, the period which captured his own fancy. Rain had
wetted his moustache, causing it to droop over the corners of the mouth, like
those belonging to effigies on tombs or church brasses. Persons at odds with
their surroundings not infrequently suggest an earlier historical epoch. Gwatkin
was not exactly at odds with the rest of the world. In many ways, he was the
essence of conventional behaviour. At the same time, he never mixed with others
on precisely their own terms. Perhaps people suspected – disapproved – his
vaulting dreams. The platoons had by this time, after much shouting and
commanding, unwillingly withdrawn from the comfort of the buses into the
pouring rain, and were gloomily forming up.

‘Rowland is in
a bloody rotten temper this morning,’ said Breeze. ‘What did he want to bite
our heads off for?’

‘He’s in a
state,’ said Kedward. ‘He nearly left his maps behind. He would have done, if I
had not reminded him. Why were you late, Nick? That started Rowland being
browned off.’

‘Had some
trouble with Sergeant Pendry. He doesn’t seem well today.’

‘I heard the
Sergeant-Major say something about Pendry last night,’ said Breeze. ‘Did you
hear what it was, Idwal?’

‘Something
about his leave,’ said Kedward. ‘Just
like old Cadwallader
to tackle Rowland about an NCO’s
leave when he was
in the middle of preparing
for the exercise.’

Gwatkin
returned some
minutes later, the transparent talc surface
of his map-cover marked all over with troop dispositions
shown in chinagraph pencil of different colours. ‘The Company is in support,’
he said. ‘Come over here, Platoon
Commanders, and look at the map.’

He started to
explain what we had to do, beginning with a few general principles regarding a
company ‘in support’; then moving on to the more specific technical
requirements of the moment. These two aspects of the operation merged into an
interwoven mass of instruction and disquisition, no doubt based, in the first
instance, on sound military doctrine, but not a little confusing after being
put through the filter of Gwatkin’s own complex of ideas. He had obviously
pondered the theory of being ‘in support’, poring in his spare time over the
pages of
Infantry Training.
In addition, Gwatkin had also memorized with care phrases used by the
Commanding Officer in the course of his issue of orders … start-line … RVs …
forming-up areas … B echelon … These milestones in the
efficiency of the manoeuvre were certainly intended to be considered in
relation to ground and other circumstances; in short, left largely to the
discretion of the junior commander himself. However, that was not the way
Gwatkin looked at things. Although he liked saying that he wanted freedom to
make his own tactical arrangements, he always found it hard to disregard the
words of the textbook, or those of a comparatively senior officer. By the time
he had finished talking, it was clear the Company was to be put through every
movement possible to associate with the state of being ‘in support’.

‘Right,’ said
Gwatkin. ‘Any questions?’

There were no
questions; chiefly because of the difficulty in disentangling one single item
from the whole. We checked map references; synchronised watches. Rain had
stopped falling. The day was still grey, but warmer. When I returned to my
platoon trouble was in progress. Sayce, the near criminal, was having an altercation
with Jones, D., who carried the anti-tank rifle. As usual, Sayce was morally in
the wrong, though technically perhaps on this occasion in the right. That was
if Sayce were telling the truth, in itself most improbable. The row was
something to do with a case of ammunition. In ordinary circumstances, Sergeant
Pendry would have cleared up in a moment anything of this sort. In his present
state, higher authority had to be brought in. I adjudicated, leaving both
contestants with a sense of grievance. We moved off across open country. At
first I closely followed Gwatkin’s instructions; then, finding my Platoon
lagging behind Breeze and his men, took them on at greater speed. Even so, when
we arrived, later in the morning, at the field where the Company was to
reassemble, much time had been lost by the formality of the manoeuvring. The
men were ‘stood easy’, then allowed to lie on the grass with groundsheets
beneath them.

‘Wait orders
here,’ said Gwatkin.

He was still
in that tense state which desire to excel always brought about in him. However,
his temper was better than earlier in the day. He spoke of the ingenuity of the
tactical system as laid down in the book, the manner in which the Company had
put this into practice.

‘It’s all
worked out to the nearest minute,’ he said.

Then he
strolled away, and began to survey the country through field-glasses.

‘That’s bloody
well wrong,’ said Kedward, under his breath. ‘We ought to be a mile further on
at least, if we’re going to be any use at the Foremost Defended Localities when
the moment comes.’

Holding no
strong views on the subject myself, I was inclined
to think Kedward right. All was confusion. I had only a very slight idea what
was happening by now, and what
role the Company should rightly play. I
should have liked to lie on the ground and stretch my legs out like the men,
instead of having to be on the alert for Gwatkin’s next order and superintend a
dozen small matters. Some minutes later a runner came up with a written message
for Gwatkin.

‘Good God,’ he
said.

Something had
evidently gone badly amiss. Gwatkin took off his helmet and shook the rain from
it. He looked about him hopelessly.

‘It
hasn’t worked out
right,’ he said agitatedly.

‘What hasn’t?’

‘Fall in your
men at once,’ he said. ‘It’s long past the time when we should have been in
position. That’s what the message says.’

Instead of
being close up behind the company we were supposed to support, here we were, in
fact, hanging about miles away; still occupied, I suppose, with some more
preliminary involution of Gwatkin’s labyrinthine tactical performance. Kedward
was right. We ought to have been advancing at greater speed. Gwatkin had done
poorly. Now, he began to issue orders right and left. However, before anything
much could happen, another runner appeared. This one carried an order
instructing Gwatkin to halt his company for the time being, while we ‘let
through’ another company, by now close on our heels. Like golfers who have lost
their ball, we allowed this company to pass between our deployed ranks. They
were on their way to do the job assigned to ourselves. Bithel was one of their
platoon commanders. He trotted by quite near me, red in the face, panting like
a dog. As he came level, he paused for a moment.

‘Haven’t got
an aspirin about you?’ he asked.

‘Afraid not.’

‘Forgot to
bring mine.’

‘Sorry.’

‘That’s all
right,’ he said, loosening the helmet from his forehead for a moment, ‘just
felt an aspirin might be the answer.’

His teeth
clicked metallically. He hurried on again to catch up his men, rejoining the
platoon as they were already beginning to disappear from sight. We ‘stood by’
for ages, awaiting an order.

‘Can the men
sit down again?’ asked Breeze.

‘No,’ said
Gwatkin.

He was deeply
humiliated by these circumstances, standing silent, fidgeting with his revolver
holster. At last the order came. Gwatkin’s company was to proceed by road to
Battalion Headquarters in the field. He was himself to report to the Commanding
Officer forthwith.

‘I’ve let the
whole Battalion down,’ he muttered, as he went off towards his Company
Commander’s truck.

Kedward
thought the same.

‘Did you ever
see such frigging about,’ he said. ‘Why, even as it was, I was behindhand in
bringing my platoon up level with the main body of the Company, and by then I’d
cut out at least half the things Rowland had told me to do. If I’d done them
all, it would have taken a week. We wouldn’t even have got as far as that field
where we had a breather.’

We set off for
Battalion HQ. By the time I brought my platoon in, it was late in the afternoon.
Rain had begun to fall again. The place was a clearing in some woods where
field kitchens had been set up. At last there was prospect of
something to eat, a subject much on the men’s
minds, scarcely
less on my own. I was very ready for a meal, breakfast
soon after 5 a.m. by now a long way off.
For some reason, probably
because it was becoming hard to obtain, I carried no chocolate in my haversack.
Gwatkin was waiting for us when
we arrived. From his appearance it was clear he had been hauled pretty roughly
over the coals by the Commanding Officer for failure to bring up the Company in
time earlier that
day. His face was white.

‘You are to
take your platoon out at once on patrol,’ he said.

‘But they’ve
had no dinner.’

‘The men just
have time for a mouthful, if they’re quick. You can’t. I’ve got to go over the
map with you. You are to make a recce, then act as a Standing Patrol. It can’t
be helped that you haven’t eaten yourself.’

He gave the
impression of rather enjoying this opportunity for working off his feelings.
There seemed no necessity to underline the fact that I was to starve until
further notice. Whatever the Commanding Officer had said had certainly not
improved Gwatkin’s state of mind. He was thoroughly upset. His hand shook when
he pointed his pencil at names on the map. He was in a vile temper.

‘You will take
your men up to this point,’ he said. ‘There you will establish an HQ. Here is
the canal. At this map reference the Pioneers have thrown a rope bridge across.
You will personally cross by the rope bridge and make a recce of the far bank
from here to here. Then return to your platoon and carry out the duties of a
Standing Patrol as laid down in
Infantry
Training,
having reported the map reference of
your HQ by runner to me at this point here. In due course I shall come and
inspect the position and receive your report. All right?’

‘Yes.’

He handed over
some map references.

‘Any questions?’

‘None.’

Gwatkin strode
off. I returned to my platoon, far from pleased. The fact that missing a meal or
two in the army must be regarded – certainly by an officer – as all in the day’s
work, makes these occasions no more acceptable. Sergeant Pendry was falling in
the men when I returned to the area of the wood that had been allotted to the
Platoon. They were grumbling at the hurried nature of dinner, complaining the
stew had ‘tasted’ from being kept in the new containers. The only bright spot
was that we were to be transported by truck some of the distance towards the
place where we were to undertake these duties. Thirty men take an age to get
on, or off, a vehicle of any kind. Jones, D., slipped while climbing up over
the wheel, dropping the anti-tank rifle – that inordinately heavy, already
obsolete weapon – on the foot of Williams, W. H., the platoon runner, putting
him temporarily out of action. Sayce now began a long story about feeling
faint, perhaps as a result of eating the stew, and what the MO had said about
some disease he, Sayce, was suffering from. These troubles were unwillingly
presented to me through the sceptical medium of Corporal Gwylt. I was in no
mood for pity. If the meal had made Sayce feel queasy, that was better than
having no meal at all. Such was my answer. All these things obstructed progress
for about ten minutes. I feared Gwatkin might return to find reasonable cause
for complaint in this delay, but Gwatkin had disappeared, bent on making life
uncomfortable for someone else, or perhaps anxious only to find a quiet place
where he could himself mope for a short period, while recovering his own
morale. Sergeant Pendry was still showing less than his usual vigour in keeping
things on the move. There could be no doubt Breeze had been right about Pendry,
I thought, unless
he turned out to be merely unwell, sickening for
some illness,
rather than suffering from a hangover. He dragged his
feet when he walked, hardly able to shout out a command.
I took him aside as the last man settled into the
truck.