The Valley of Bones - Anthony Powell [17]
‘Aigh-o, Mary,’ shouted Corporal Gwylt. ‘Have you come to see the foreigners?’
The girls began to giggle purposefully.
‘It’s no brave day ye’ve brought with ye,’ one of them called back.
‘What was that you said, Mary, my love?’
‘Why did ye not bring a braver day with ye, I’m asking. ‘Tis that we’ve been wanting since Sunday, sure.’
‘What kind of a day, Mary, my own?’
‘Why a brave day. ‘Tis prosperous weather we’re needing.’
Corporal Gwylt turned to Sergeant Pendry and made a gesture with his hand to convey absolute incredulity at such misuse of language.
‘Brave day?’ he said. ‘Did you hear what she called it, Sergeant Pendry?’
‘I did that, Corporal Gwylt.’
‘So that’s a funny way to talk.’
‘That it is.’
‘Now you can tell the way people speak we’re far from home.’
‘You’ll be getting many surprises in this country, my lad,’ said Sergeant Pendry. ‘You may be sure of that.’
‘Will some of them be nice surprises, Sergeant?’
‘Ask not that of me.’
‘Oh, don’t you think I’ll be getting some nice surprises, Sergeant Pendry,’ said Corporal Gwylt in a soft wheedling tone, ‘like a plump little girl to keep me warm at night.’
CSM Cadwallader was pottering about nearby, like a conscientious matron at a boys’ school determined to make sure all was well. He had the compact professional feeling of the miner, which he combined with a rather unusual taste for responsibility, so that any company commander was lucky to claim his services.
‘We’ll be keeping you warm, Corporal Gwylt,’ he said. ‘Make no mistake. There’ll be plenty of work for you, I’ll tell you straight. Do not worry about the night-time. Then you will want your rest, not little girls, nor big ones neither.’
‘But a plump little girl, Sergeant-Major? Do not yourself wish to meet a plump little girl?’
‘Put not such ideas into the Sergeant-Major’s head, Corporal Gwylt,’ said Sergeant Pendry. ‘He does not wish your dirty things.’
‘Nor me, the dirty girls,’ said Corporal Gwylt. ‘I never said the dirty ones.’
‘Nor then the clean ones, understand.’
‘Oh, does he not?’ said Corporal Gwylt, in feigned astonishment. ‘Not even the clean ones? Do you think that indeed, Sergeant Pendry?’
‘I do think that, I tell you.’
‘And why, whatever?’
‘The Sergeant-Major is a married man, you must know.’
‘So you think girls are just for young lads like me, Sergeant-Major? That is good for me, I’m sure.’
‘Never mind what I think, Corporal.’
‘He is a lucky man, the Sergeant Major,’ said Sergeant Pendry sententiously. ‘You will be glad when you reach his age, no longer foolish and running after girls.’
‘Oh, dear me, is it true what Sergeant Pendry says, Sergeant-Major, that girls are for you no longer? I am that sorry to hear.’
CSM Cadwallader allowed himself a dry smile.
‘Have you never heard, Corporal Gwylt, there’s those to find many a good tune played on old fiddles?’ he said benevolently.
The Embarkation Staff Officer turned up at that moment with a sheaf of papers. The Battalion was on the move again. Corporal Gwylt had just time to blow a kiss to the girls, who waved frantically, redoubling their gigglings. The Company tramped off towards the train in a siding.
‘Now then, there,’ shouted the Sergeant-Major, ‘pick up the step in the rear files. Left – left – left, right, left …’
We steamed through bare, dismal country, wide fields, white cabins, low walls of piled stones, stretches of heather, more mountains far away on the horizon.
‘This will give us better training areas than back home,’ said Gwatkin.
He had recovered from his sea sickness and the tension brought on by the move. Now he was relatively calm.
‘We shall be more like soldiers here,’ he said with satisfaction.
‘What happens when we arrive, Rowland?’ Breeze asked. ‘I hope there’ll be something to eat.’
Breeze’s questions were usually aimed to score