The Empire Trilogy - J. G. Farrell [191]
But the ladies were not soothed, particularly as Murphy chose this moment to shamble forward and announce that a party of young gentlemen had arrived.
“But that’s impossible!” cried the Major, dismayed by the speed with which he had been unmasked. “Tell them they can’t stay.”
“But the master does be saying they can,” countered Murphy with relish.
The Major hurried off to find Edward and remonstrate with him. But Edward had already welcomed the party, half a dozen young undergraduates from Oxford spending their vacation in Ireland in order to get to the bottom of the Irish question. He was full of enthusiasm. They were Oxford men! At last a chance for some intellectual discussion...They had chosen to make a special study of Ireland and discuss matters with various strata of society, a real attempt to get to grips with the feelings of the Irish people, not just the Shinners! There was no gainsaying the fact, young people today took a more direct, more sensible and generally less hypocritical approach to politics than the older generation. They were imbued by a new sense of social justice...“No, no, Brendan, I can see you smiling but it’s true. We can learn from the young if we keep our ears open. Besides, they’re only here for a night or two.” And Edward went on to describe how, long before the war, he had eaten a splendid dinner in All Souls... Ah, the quotations from Aristotle and St Thomas Aquinas! The shellfish, too, had been magnificent. And the port peerless.
There was nothing to be done about it. The Major was turning away when Edward added: “By the way, a parcel didn’t arrive for me from London, did it?”
“Not that I know of. Something from Fortnum’s?”
“No, as a matter of fact. I wrote away for one of these things I saw advertised in the paper.” He fumbled in his pocket and at last located a newspaper clipping which he handed to the Major. With raised eyebrows he read that Messrs Wilkinson’s Sword Company was offering bullet-proof waistcoats—steel within silk, weighing only five pounds. “Send us the following particulars and we guarantee you a perfectly fitting garment. Waist and chest measurements, sloping or square shoulders, hollow or round back. Five guineas well spent would be the means of preventing a fatality.”
“Would you say I have a round back?”
“Oh, I shouldn’t have thought so.”
“Ah, well, thanks...D’you suppose they’re any good?”
“Afraid I never met anyone who wore them.”
“Just thought I’d ask. It’s not that I’m getting the wind up or anything like that. It’s foolish, though, to risk a fatality for a ha’porth of tar. That’s the first thing they teach you in the army.”
Five of the undergraduates had been correctly identified by Murphy as young gentlemen, rather noisy and talkative ones. From a first-floor window the Major watched them dubiously as they sauntered out on to the lawn where Seán Murphy had been instructed to set up croquet hoops. The sixth, however, was an older man, taciturn and rather self-conscious. He sometimes laughed when the others laughed but not quite so spontaneously. If he cried: “Good shot, Maitland!” or “Your turn, Bunny!” or “Bravo, Hall-Smith!” it was usually to echo one of the others who, for the most part, addressed him with distant politeness or ignored him altogether. Later, when they came in for a specially arranged tea with cucumber sandwiches (served in the gun room to inhibit the ladies) the Major learned that this older man’s name was Captain Roberts and that, yes, he had been “up” when the war broke out. And yes, it was a bit hard getting back to one’s studies—at least, he added with an agonized smile, he’d found it so at first anyway. But now, of course...And his sad, shocked eyes returned to the faces of his high-spirited companions.
Presently, the latter having drunk their tea and eaten their sandwiches as unconcernedly as if such things were an everyday occurrence in their lives (as no doubt they were), they returned to their game on the lawn and