Remembrance Day. Leah Fleming

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      Angus was in another battalion, romping away like a pig in muck, according to his scribbled letters. Mother’s threatened interference hadn’t happened, but Guy was uneasy that his brother had lied about his fitness. They’d had their portraits done in uniform, singly and then together, left and right profiles, head to head as if they were one face looking out. They’d both grown moustaches to make them look older, fair tickly little tufts covering their full lips.

      He’d sent a photo to Selma for her opinion and she’d not sent it back. It was good to have a girl to write to. He could let rip and describe all the funny incidents in training, his boredom and impatience to get into action. Her last letter had been full of Frank’s defection into the Horse Artillery and how her father was struggling to keep up with his work.

      He pulled out his pipe, pondering how he’d cope when the time came and the barrage exploded over his head. Would he make a tit of himself and funk the whole show, be dismissed to the rear or get cashiered out as a coward? He hoped he’d make a good account of himself and serve his men well.

      With all the exercise and good food, he’d filled out, grown an inch or two and found new muscle strength. His mother would see a difference and his father would be proud of them both. They were meeting up for lunch at the Trocadero restaurant and then on to a West End show. Angus was joining them from his base near Aldershot. He’d caught up with Father more than once.

      The news from the front was mixed. It didn’t take a genius to work out the attrition rate among officers was much higher than in the ranks. The casualty lists in The Times made sombre reading but Guy was all the more determined that he would be one of the exceptions to the rule.

      Charles Cantrell was waiting in the Long Bar of the Trocadero restaurant in Shaftesbury Avenue. It was full of distinguished men in uniform, and Guy was expecting to see Angus lounging somewhere close by, but his father was alone.

      ‘Good journey, old fellow?’ Father smiled, shaking his hand.

      ‘Angus not arrived?’

      ‘Not yet. We’ll leave his ticket at the Royalty Theatre, if he’s late into town. Mother is shopping, and I’ve booked a theatre dinner. How’re things going?’

      They sat huddled in the crush, talking shop. Now he was in the army Guy felt a shift between his father and himself, a loosening of the reins, a relaxation in their chitchat, but still he kept checking his new wristwatch, looking up at the entrance for his brother. Still no sign of him.

      ‘Come on, young man…Time to go and find your mama before she buys out Derry and Toms.’ So they left the male-only enclave to go to search for his mother but she was already waiting downstairs in the foyer, regal in lilac and grey, her eyes smiling up at them with pride.

      ‘No Angus yet? Oh, I did so want us all to be together.’ She paused to look at her son admiringly. ‘Guy, you’ve grown.’

      ‘He’s learned to stand up straight at last,’ Charles laughed. ‘No more slouching around; that’s why we chose something frivolous to take our minds off all the doom and gloom. Charley’s Aunt…damn silly play, but you’ll enjoy it.’

      ‘You’ve seen it then?’ Guy said. ‘Perhaps we should go somewhere else?’

      ‘No, no, chaps in the office gave it the thumbs up. I’m starving. I wonder where Angus has got to this time?’

      And on to the Royalty they went but Angus’s seat stayed empty all night. Mother kept twitching, wanting to make a telephone call to his barracks, but Father wouldn’t hear of it.

      It was nearly midnight when the doorbell rang in their apartment in South Kensington. Angus stood there, grinning sheepishly.

      ‘Sorry, folks, my pass was cancelled. I’m on leave tomorrow instead so hitched a lift into town. Better late than never.’

      ‘Thank God for that.’ Father ushered him in. ‘Now your mother can sleep in peace. She’s been pacing the floor, worrying as usual. On the move soon?’ he asked.

      Angus slouched down in the nearest armchair. ‘Something like that…going down to Wiltshire for more outdoor stuff. How about you, Guy?’

      ‘Still stuck up north, worst luck.’

      ‘Be patient, the two of you. It’s no picnic in France,’ Charles butted in,handing Angus a glass of brandy.‘No shifting those Huns from their defences…bit of a stalemate all round.’ He tapped his nose. ‘But you didn’t hear it from me. You two are better off here for the time being, believe me.’

      ‘So what’s it really like? We’ve heard some tales as how they are firing gas shells at us now.’

      ‘Shush! Don’t let Mother hear you next door. Don’t worry, we got the measure of them. Mask drill is the only way. You’ll find only the battle teaches you about war. One battle is worth two years’ training. But make sure your men get used to covering their faces. Discipline and drill, that’s the ticket! Two can play at their dirty game. We’ll give them a dose of their own medicine soon enough. Come on then, time for bed, young man. Your mother’s got a morning of culture lined up for you both and then I’ll meet you for lunch. I’ve got things to do for Lord Kitchener tomorrow. He asked after you both. He still remembers you in short pants.’

      Guy noted his father had changed the subject, but he was tired and Angus looked done in. ‘Good night.’

      Guy lay listening to the noise of traffic outside, so different from the sounds of the barracks or the near silence of Waterloo, where there was only the rattle of trains in the night and the owl hooting in the ash tree. He felt restless after all that talk about gas masks and shells.

      They were kipping down in the dressing room on officers’ camp beds in the flat.

      ‘You all right?’ Guy called to his brother. He didn’t answer at first.

      ‘Do you ever wonder if we’ll get through this in one piece?’ Angus said eventually.

      ‘I don’t think about it much, do you?’ Guy replied.

      ‘It all seems a bit unreal, all the stuff in the training manual. What if I forget half of it?’

      ‘You won’t. That’s why they drill us to make sure it’s second nature. I don’t suppose there’s time to think in the thick of it,’ Guy added.

      ‘I wish we could have a rehearsal and try it all out first, get used to the noise and the smells, don’t you think? Exercises and manoeuvres are all very well but I don’t want to make an ass of myself in front of my men. I’ve never seen a dead man in battle. What if I funk it?’

      ‘Any more headaches?’ Guy asked; a coded reference to Angus’s fitting episodes.

      ‘No, fit as a fiddle. I reckon it’s all behind me now, thank God. I don’t fancy missing the show now it’s really getting going. Can’t wait.’

      Guy hoped his brother was telling the truth. But still he was uneasy.

      You’re getting as bad as Mother, Guy mused. Enjoy this family time. Only God knows when we will all meet up again.

      The Bartleys were enjoying having Newton СКАЧАТЬ