The Valley of Bones - Anthony Powell [74]
‘I’ve found a new place – better than M’Coy’s,’ he said rather challengingly. ‘The porter there is bloody marvellous. I’ve drunk it now several times. I’d like to have your opinion.’
I had once visited M’Coy’s with Kedward. It was, in fact, the only pub I had entered since being stationed at Castlemallock. I found no difficulty in believing M’Coy’s could be improved upon as a drinking resort, but it was hard to guess why Gwatkin’s transference of custom from M’Coy’s to this new place should be an important issue, as Gwatkin’s manner seemed to suggest. In any case, it was unlike him to suggest an evening’s drinking. I agreed to make the trip. It would have been unfriendly, rather impolitic, to have refused. A walk into the town would be a change. Besides, I was heartily sick of Esmond. When dinner was at an end, Gwatkin and I set off together. We tramped along the drive in silence. We had almost reached the road, when he made an unexpected remark.
‘It won’t be easy to go back to the Bank after all this,’ he said.
‘All what?’
‘The army. The life we’re leading.’
‘Don’t you like the Bank?’
As Kedward had explained at the outset, most of the Battalion’s officers worked in banks. This was one of the aspects of the unit which gave a peculiar sense of uniformity, of existing almost within a family. Even though one was personally outside this sept, its homogeneous character in itself offered a certain cordiality, rather than the reverse, to an intruder. Until now, no one had given the impression he specially disliked that employment, over and above the manner in which most people grumble about their own job, whatever it is. Indeed, all seemed to belong to a caste, clearly defined, powerful on its home ground, almost a secret society, with perfect understanding between its members where outward things were concerned. The initiates might complain about specific drawbacks, but never in a way to imply hankering for another occupation. To hear absolute revolt expressed was new to me. Gwatkin seemed to relent a little when he spoke again.
‘Oh, the bloody Bank’s not that bad,’ he said laughing, ‘but it’s a bit different being here. Something better to do than open jammed Home Safes and enter the contents in the Savings Bank Ledger.’
‘What’s a Home Safe, and why does it jam?’
‘Kids’ money-boxes.’
‘Do the children jam them?’
‘Parents, usually. Want a bit of ready. Try to break into the safe with a tin-opener. The bloody things arrive back at the office with the mechanism smashed to pieces. When the cashier gets in at last, he finds three pennies, a halfpenny and a tiddly wink.’
‘Still, brens get jammed too. It’s traditional for machine-guns – you know, the Gatling’s jammed and the Colonel’s dead. Somebody wrote a poem about it. One might do the same about a Home Safe and the manager.’
Gwatkin ignored such disenchantment.
‘The bren’s a soldier’s job,’ he said.
‘What about Pay Parades and Kit Inspection? They’re soldiers’ jobs. It doesn’t make them any more enjoyable.’
‘Better than taking the Relief Till to Treorchy on a market day, doling out the money from a bag in old Mrs Jones-the-Milk’s front parlour. What sort of life is that for a man?’
‘You find the army more glamorous, Rowland?’
‘Yes,’ he said eagerly, ‘glamorous. That’s the word. Don’t you feel you want to do more in life than sit in front of a row of ledgers all day long? I know I do.’
‘Sitting at Castlemallock listening to the wireless announcing the German army is pushing towards the Channel ports isn’t particularly inspiring either – especially after an hour with the CQMS trying to sort out the Company’s sock situation, or searching for a pair of battle-dress trousers to fit Evans, J., who is such an abnormal shape.’
‘No, Nick, but we’ll be in it soon. We can’t stay at Castlemallock for ever.’
‘Why not?’
‘Anyway, Castlemallock’s not so bad.’
He seemed desperately anxious to prevent me from speaking hardly of Castlemallock.