The Soldier's Art - Anthony Powell [26]
Enquiries at the quarters of the Supply Column indicated that, as Widmerpool supposed, all was not well. His feud with C.R.A.S.C. had certainly penetrated there, if unwillingness to spare time to impart information was anything to judge by. I left the place with a clearer understanding of my father’s strictures, in the distant past, regarding Uncle Giles’s transference to the Army Service Corps. However, certain essential details were now to some extent available. There could be no doubt that, at best, existing arrangements, so far as the Sergeants’ Mess was concerned, were in disorder; at worst, something more serious was taking place in which Diplock might be involved. I brought back the material required by Widmerpool that evening.
“Just as I thought,” he said, “I’ll go and have a word with A. & Q. right away.”
Widmerpool stayed a long time with Colonel Pedlar. He had told me to wait until his return, in case further information collected during the day might be needed. When he came back to the room his expression immediately showed that he regarded the interview to have been unsatisfactory.
“Things will have to be looked into further,” he said. “Pedlar’s still unwilling to believe anything criminal is taking place. I don’t agree with him. Just run through what they told you again.”
It was nearly dinner time when I arrived back that night at F Mess. I went to the bedroom to change into service dress. When I came down the stairs, the rest of them were going into the room where we ate*
“Buck up, Jenkins,” said Biggs, “or you’ll miss all the lovely bits of gristle Sopey’s been collecting from the swill tubs all the afternoon for us to gnaw. Wonder he has the cheek to put the stuff he does in front of a man.”
He was in one of his noisy moods that night. When Biggs felt cheerful – which was not often – he liked to shout and indulge in horseplay. This usually took the form of ragging Soper, the Divisional Catering Officer. Soper, also a captain with ’14-’18 ribbons, was short and bandy-legged, which, with heavy eyebrows and deep-set shifty eyes, gave him a simian appearance that for some reason suggested a professional comedian. In civil life one of the managers, on the supply side, of a chain of provincial restaurants, he was immersed in his work as D.C.O., never in fact making a remark that in the least fitted in with his promisingly slapstick appearance, or even one to be classed as a joke. Off-duty he talked of scarcely any subject but army allowances. Biggs and Soper to some extent reproduced, at their lower level, the relationship of Colonel Hogbourne-Johnson and Colonel Pedlar in the General’s Mess; that is to say they grated on each other’s nerves, but, as twin veterans of the earlier war, maintained some sort of uneasy alliance. This bond was strengthened by a fellow feeling engendered by the relatively unexalted nature of their own appointments, both being much on their dignity where the “G” staff – ”operational” in duties – was concerned. There was, however, this important deviation in their reflection of the two colonels’ relationship, for, although Biggs, aggressive and strident, so to speak bullied Soper (like Colonel Hogbourne-Johnson oppressing Colonel Pedlar), it was Soper who, vis-à-vis Biggs, enjoyed the role of man of the world, pundit of a wider sophistication. For example, Soper’s knowingness about food – albeit army food – impressed Biggs, however unwillingly.
“How are the diet sheets, Sopey?” said Biggs, belching as he sat down. “When are you going to give us a decent bit of beefsteak for a change? Can you tell me that?”
Soper showed little or no interest in this enquiry,