A Test to Destruction (36 page)

*

Phillip called at a gunsmith’s in the Strand, to look at second-hand 12-bore guns. He chose one with 36-inch damascus barrels, of a pair which had become separated. What knowledge he had of shot-guns had been absorbed from used copies of
The
Field,
from the Free Library during schooldays. Some damascus barrels were hand-forged, from old horse-shoe nails beaten flat with iron wire, he had read; while those beaten out by Joe Manton, a classic name, were the best in England. Was it a Joe Manton, he asked; to be told that it was not, otherwise it would be priced considerably higher than £20.
This gun was made by one of the best Yorkshire gunsmiths, for grouse.

The taxi was waiting on the kerb. He decided to go home in it, the driver agreeing to the ten-mile run there and back after seeing his rank badges; nor was he disappointed, for he got a five-bob tip in addition to the legal fare.

To Phillip it seemed like standing just over the edge of the world, as he watched the cab turning the corner, leaving him with new valise, leather gun-case, and cartridge bag on the asphalt by the faded green gate. So much had happened to divide him from the boy with dreams of hitting sparrows in the Backfield with catapult and dust-shot wrapped in tissue paper, and baking them in clay, in the embers of his fire hidden in a deep crack in the slope of wild grasses. What was the reality of his life now, in this uniform, with this gun-case?

He must avoid being seen, or spoken to; he pushed his way through the gate, with its old name
Lindenheim
faintly showing under the paint of 1914, before Mrs. Bigge next door could pop out and congratulate him. There she was, the lace curtain pulled aside, waving. He saluted her, smiled, and went on. He is so eager to see his mother, she thought happily.

Hetty, who had been waiting in her bedroom, hurried downstairs when Mrs. Feeney called out, after opening the door, “Master Phillip’s come, ma’m!” This delay had been planned, for Hetty did not want to appear too eager. She must behave with restraint, too, in the manner of his admired Duchess. But
it was the first time she had seen him in his new uniform, his light serge tunic with leather buttons,
two
ribands, and small gilt star and crown on each of his shoulder straps. She glowed with love and pride, and was near to tears as she stood on the second stair from the bottom, a little above the level of his head; forcing herself to the restraint of, “Well, I hope you had a pleasant journey?” Then her restraint broke, and she said the very words she had, for days, been telling herself that she must never utter, “Oh, we
are
all so proud of you, Phillip! Aren’t we, Mrs. Feeney?”

“Yes ma’am, the whole neighbourhood is,” and the charwoman went back into the kitchen, to leave the mis’es and her boy alone.

“I have something to show you, in the front room!”

On the table were newspapers, with photographs of him. He picked one up, and after a glance put it down. The next,
The
Borough
News,
had a snapshot reproduction of him as patrol-leader of the Bloodhound Patrol. ‘The boy is father to the man.’

“Did you get the snapshot back? It was from my album, wasn’t it?”

“Not yet, but the man has promised to send it back.”

“That’s what the reporter on
The
Express
promised to do with my letter in December 1914, but he didn’t send it back, did he?”

“I’ll go and see them again, dear. You’re quite right. I’m keeping all your other letters, with these papers, for your own little boy, one day.”

“I shall never marry.”

“Ah, my son, just wait until the right girl comes along!”

“Oh, Mother—please——”

“Well, how are you, anyway?”

“Very well, thank you. How are you?”

“Oh, as well as can be expected—— Quite well, really!”

“I think I’ll just go down and see Mrs. Neville. No, I’ll change first.”

She stopped herself from saying, But you’re only just home, and said instead, “Wouldn’t you like something to eat first? I’ve managed to get a chop specially for you, from Mr. Chamberlain.”

“Oh really, Mother—we all have
lots
to eat—— But thank you all the same. Where is Father? On the allotment?”

“He’s gone to get some new potatoes, specially for you, dear.”

“Well, it’s most awfully good of you all, but really, as I said, we get plenty of food in the mess. I may be able to send you some partridges next week. I’ve been asked to shoot with some friends.”

“How splendid. I wondered what the gun was for.”

“Oh, Mother, what do you think a gun is for?” He saw her face on the edge of weariness, or despair. “You can’t say a thing to me, or Father, can you, without being ragged? I’m sorry. Of course it was a fair question, considering the state of Mr. Bigge’s greenhouse! Are those airgun holes still there? What a little swine I was in those days, taking Father’s gun without permission, and shooting at anything I saw. How are the girls?”

“I’m expecting Doris home any moment, she is coming from Norfolk, where she has been pulling flax.”

“Then she must have been on the same train as I was! I wish I’d have known, I could have given her a lift in my boneshaker. How long is she home for?”

“Doris has got special leave until Monday night, in order to go up to London with us all on Monday.”

This was a jag. “What, are you all going to the Old Vic?”

“Well, dear, we thought you would like us to be there when you receive your decoration.” She felt unhappy, he was staring at the carpet. “I mean afterwards, of course.”

“Who is ‘we’?”

“Well, Phillip, we won’t get in your way, of course. But as it is such beautiful weather, I thought it would be nice to see the sights.”

“Who is ‘we’? Father?”

“He won’t if you don’t want him to, of course—I think he will expect to be asked, perhaps.”

“Who else?”

“Oh, Grandpa and Aunt Marian, and the two girls, of course.” As he remained silent, she went on, “At any rate, think it over, dear. It was only our idea, but we don’t want to stand in your way if you have any other plans.”

The fact was that the family-party idea had arisen out of new hope; Hetty and Richard had lived almost buoyantly since that
day when he had come home early with a copy of
The
Times,
to say almost casually, ‘Have you seen the paper, Hetty?
Our
best boy is something of a dark horse, evidently!’

“What about Elizabeth, the butterfly out of the Mavis cocoon?”

“Of course your sister must look her best, Phillip. She has ordered a new frock and hat specially for the occasion. She is very proud of you, as we all are.”

“Really!”

Mrs. Feeney, bonnet’ d and cape’d, looked round the door. “I’m off now, ma’am. Good luck, Master Phillip, for Monday!”

“Thanks, Mrs. Feeney.” When she had gone he said, “I think I’ll change, and go for a walk, Mother. Wish I’d brought Sprat—but among other things, he might have upset Mrs. Neville.”

“How very thoughtful of you, dear! You
are
so much more thoughtful now, you know! Indeed, in some things
too
thoughtful. There, I didn’t mean to criticise you! Come on, give me a kiss.”

A brief moment of communion, a temporary freedom from the little ego for Phillip. She said, happily, “Father will be back at a quarter to eight, and Elizabeth too. Doris should be here any moment now. They are such nice lamb chops. Chamberlain let me have four, as it was a special occasion.”

“Four? There are five of us. You’re not having one yourself,
as
usual,
I suppose?”

“Well, Phillip, meat never agrees with me at night. I have to be careful nowadays what I eat. Oh, and before I forget! Gran’pa wants to take us all to lunch at Simpson’s, in the Strand, afterwards. It is only for once, after all. And he is so looking forward to it, so don’t disappoint him. Dr. Dighton tells me his bronchitis must be watched carefully. Gran’pa did ask your father to come, but he says he has so much to do at the office.”

“Father’s always hated the old boy’s guts, hasn’t he?”

“Your language, Phillip!”

“All right, Hetty. Father has always shown a marked disinclination to converse happily with his semi-attached father-in-law. Is that better?”

There was another reason why Richard was self-withdrawn just then. He had asked Hetty to say no word about an incident
which had caused him such humiliation that he had been seriously thinking, as he told her, of resigning from the Special Constabulary.

*

On the last day of August, 14,000 Metropolitan and City policemen had gone on strike. They wanted recognition for their newly formed Trade Union, increase of pay to keep pace with risen costs of living, and reinstatement of a constable who had been active as an organiser of the Union. Thousands of policemen in plain clothes, wearing favours of red and white ribbons, had hung about Whitehall; there were near-violent arguments between constables and civilians; and fearing chaos, particularly in traffic, the Special Constabulary had been called out. Many had refused to appear. Among them, at the Randiswell Station was a neighbour of Richard’s, Mr. Jenkins. “I’m keeping out of this.” Richard had reported for duty, and been sent to the City. Traffic being self-regulated, Richard and other Specials were drafted to Downing Street, where many of the policemen in plain clothes were assembled, ready to hustle the newcomers, to the accompaniment of one of their number with a baritone voice singing
Annie
Laurie,
and two members of the Police Union playing the bagpipes.

A detachment of the Scots Guard was waiting behind the closed gates of Scotland Yard; and, facing Downing Street in the quadrangle of the Foreign Office, another detachment of Grenadiers, armed and wearing steel helmets, only too ready to have a go at the slops.

Boos and cries of
blackleg
arose; one of the crowd, who was said afterwards to be not a member of the Police Force, struck Richard in the throat. Fearing for his eyes—he was wearing the long-distance spectacles he used when rifle-shooting on the range—Richard struck out with an antiquated straight left. Cries of ‘Coward!’ arose. He was mobbed, and when finally detached, without tin-hat and spectacles, he had two rents in his tunic which looked to have been started by a razor, and his lower lip was cut and bleeding. Two soldiers led him away, while another soldier in hospital blue cried out, “If you want to fight anyone
go
out to France and fight the Germans!” Then he heard, “Dirty blackleg, taking bread out of coppers’ mouths!”

Altogether it was not a happy experience; but when Richard was led into the Horse Guards, where a reporter spoke to him,
all he said was, “I consider that a man in the course of his duty is not called upon to make a complaint.”

That evening the deputation, which had been to see the Prime Minister, came out waving caps. “We’ve won!” The members were carried shoulder-high down Whitehall. On condition that they went back to duty at once, wages were raised 13/-a week, and pensions were to be given to widows. There was no house-breaking during the day; later, Thomas Turney’s reporter friend on the Hill suggested a reason why no shops had been pillaged.

“I fancy it can be traced to two causes, Mr. Turney. First, to the smooth working of the rationing scheme, now on a national basis, and second, to the general fatigue, physical and mental, of this appalling war.”

“Well, you may be right, but in my view the causes of crime go deeper than the material circumstances of one generation. But perhaps you are right. I can only say that I hope so.”

*

“You will try and remember not to be late, won’t you, Phillip.”

“Yes, Mother, I shall try and remember not to be late. May I borrow your newspapers?”

“Of course, naturally! Only bring them back won’t you?”

“Yes, Mother, I shall bring them back. Your orders shall be obeyed in every particular.”

Mrs. Neville said, “I know how you feel, but it is perhaps the greatest moment in Mother’s life, dear. Yes, I should say the greatest, because, you see, everything is known. Marriage and giving birth are events of mixed feelings; but a son’s success, to his mother, is unalloyed happiness—yes, that is the very word. It is pure gold. Of course I realise your feelings, too, but it will be only for once, Phillip. You see they are all so proud of you, and it has almost made me weep to realise how much Mother has so been looking forward to it. She’s bought a new hat, and a coat and skirt specially for the occasion! She’s like a child, so eager and excited. Have you had any tea?”

“Yes, thanks. We had some, waiting for the connexion at Ipswich.”

“Who is ‘we’, Phillip?”

“Oh, some of the chaps I came up with. We had arranged to have lunch together on Monday, and go to the Grafton Galleries in the evening.”

“I see! And you want to be with your friends, of course! Well, can’t you meet them after the lunch at Simpson’s?”

“I don’t know where they’ll be, nor do they—you know what such parties are, liable to end up anywhere. No, I’ll go to Simpson’s, but I do wish Mother had let me know beforehand, then I wouldn’t have made this other arrangement. Still, she’s never had any social life.”

“Well, her life has been all hard work, you see, dear.”

She looked out of the window. “Do my eyes deceive me, or is that Ching coming down the road? Surely he can’t be coming here? Yes, he’s crossing over!”

“Damn him! He sticks to me like a leech!”

There was a knock on the door. “Let me go down, dear, and get rid of him.”

“No, I’d better see him.”

As he got up she said, “Don’t you let him persuade you to go with him to Freddie’s bar, Phillip. I hear that he spends a lot of his time down there.”

“No fear! I never want to see Freddie’s again!”

Before the door was fully opened, out came Ching’s hand of welcome. “I just want to offer my congratulations, Phil! I saw your name in the office list for Monday, and came over hoping to find you at home. I’m in luck!” He saw Phillip looking at the silver Disabled Badge in his lapel. “Yes, I’ve got a pension now, and it calls for a celebration. How about coming down to Freddie’s?”