The Valley of Bones - Anthony Powell [14]
‘Did they say anything about me before I arrived?’ he asked in a troubled tone.
‘Who?’
‘Anybody in the Battalion?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Any details about my family?’
‘Somebody said you were a brother of the VC.’
‘They did?’
‘Yes.’
‘What did you say when they told you that?’
‘I thought you must be too young to be his brother – more likely his nephew.’
‘Quite right. I’m not Bithel VC’s brother.’
‘You are his nephew?’
‘I never said so, did I? But don’t let’s talk any more about that. There was something else I wanted to ask you. Did they say anything about games?’
‘What sort of games?’
‘Did they say I played any special game?’
‘There was some talk of your having played rugger for Wales.’
Bithel groaned.
‘There was talk of that?’ he asked, as if to make sure he had heard right.
‘Yes.’
‘I knew there’d been a misunderstanding,’ he said.
‘What about?’
‘Why, about my playing football – about rugger. You know what it is when you’ve had a few drinks. Very easy to give a wrong impression. I must have done that when I phoned that officer dealing with TA Reservists. Talked too much about local matters, sport, other people of the name of Bithel and so on.’
‘So the VC is no relation, and you didn’t play rugger for Wales?’
‘I wouldn’t go so far as to say he was no relation. Never know who you may be related to in this part of the world. He’s not a brother or uncle anyway. I must have managed to mislead that fellow completely if he got that idea into his head. He didn’t sound very bright on the phone. I thought so at the time. One of these old dug-outs, I suppose. Colonel Blimp type. But it isn’t Bithel VC who worries me so much. It’s this rugger misunderstanding.’
‘How did it arise?’
‘God knows. Something misheard on the phone too, I should think. I believe there was a merchant called Bithel in the Welsh Fifteen one year. Perhaps there was a Bithel who played cricket for Glamorgan and I’ve muddled it. One or the other, I’m sure. It was a few years back anyway. I must have mentioned it for some reason.’
‘It doesn’t really matter, does it?’
‘It would if we had to play rugger.’
‘That isn’t very likely.’
‘The fact is I’ve never played rugger in my life,’ said Bithel. ‘Never had the chance. Not particularly keen to either. Do you think we shall have to play?’
‘Not much time with all the training, I should imagine.’
‘I hope not,’ he said, rather desperately. ‘There’s a rumour we’re going to move almost at once in any case.’
‘Any idea where?’
‘People seem to think Northern Ireland. I say, this parade ground is a long way off, isn’t it. Hope we shan’t be inspected too closely, I’m not all that well shaved. I cut myself this morning. Hand shaky, for some reason’
‘That dance was a splendid affair.’
‘What dance?’
‘The dance you did round the dummy in your bed last night.’
‘Ah,’ said Bithel laughing, ‘I’ve heard that one before – having somebody on by pretending he made a fool of himself the night before. I know when I’m having my leg pulled. As a matter of fact I was rather relieved when everyone went off quietly to bed last night. I thought there might be some ragging, and I was feeling tired after the journey. They used to rag a lot when I was in Territorial camp years ago. I never liked it. Not cut out for that sort of thing. But to get back to razors – what shaving soap do you use? I’m trying a new kind. Saw it advertized in Health and Strength. Thought I’d experiment. I like a change of soaps from time to time. It freshens you up.’
By that time we had reached the parade ground. Kedward was already there. He took me off to the platoon I was to command. Bithel disappeared in another direction. Kedward explained certain matters, then we marched up and down side by side until officers were ordered to fall in. The service was held in one of the parish churches of the town. Later, from the pulpit, Popkiss, transformed now from the pale, embarrassed cleric of the saloon bar, orated with the ease and energy shared by officers and men throughout