The military philosophers (23 page)

‘This question I am going to put is rather important,’ he said.

‘Yes?’

‘My Government has come to a decision about the army of the Resistance. As you know, the problem has posed itself since the expulsion of the Germans.’

‘So I understand.’

‘Were you told what the Field-Marshal threatened to Gauthier de Graef?’

‘I was standing beside him when the words were said.’

‘They are good young men, but they require something to do.’

‘Naturally.’

‘The proposal is that they should be brought to this country.’

That was an unexpected proposition.

‘You mean to train?’

‘Otherwise we shall have trouble. It is certain. These excellent young men have most of them grown up under German occupation, with no means of expressing their hatred for it – the feeling that for years they have not been able to breathe. They must have an outlet of some sort. They want action. A change of scene will to some extent accomplish that.’

‘What sort of numbers?’

‘Say thirty thousand.’

‘A couple of Divisions?’

‘But without the equivalent in weapons and services.’

‘When do you want them to come?’

‘At once.’

‘So we’ve got to move quickly.’

‘That is the point.’

I thought about the interminable procedures required to get a project of this sort under way. Blackhead, like a huge bat, seemed already flapping his wings about Eaton Square, bumping blindly against the windows of the room.

‘Arrangements for two Divisions will take some time. Are they already cadred?’

‘Sufficiently to bring them across.’

‘I’ll go straight back to Colonel Finn. We’ll get a minute out to be signed by the General and go at once to the highest level. There will be all sorts of problems in addition to the actual physical accommodation of two extra Divisions in this country. The Finance people, for one thing. It will take a week or two to get that side fixed.’

‘You think so?’

‘I know them.’

‘Speed is essential.’

‘It’s no good pretending we’re going to get an answer by Monday.’

‘You mean it may take quite a long time?’

‘You are familiar with ministerial machinery.’

Kucherman got up from his chair.

‘What are we going to do?’

‘I thought I’d better say all this.’

‘I know it already.’

‘It’s a fact, I’m afraid.’

‘But we must do something. What you say is true, I know. How are we going to get round it? I want to speak frankly. This could be a question of avoiding civil war.’

There was a pause. I knew there was only one way out – to cut the Gordian Knot – but could not immediately see how to attain that. Then, perhaps hypnotized by Kucherman’s intense need for an answer, I thought of something.

‘You said you knew Sir Magnus Donners.’

‘Of course.’

‘But you have not seen much of him since you’ve been over here?’

‘I have spoken to him a couple of times at official parties. He was very friendly.’

‘Ring him up and say you want to see him at once – this very morning.’

‘You think so?’

‘Tell him what you’ve just told me.’

‘And then —’

‘Sir Magnus can tell the Head Man.’

Kucherman thought for a moment.

‘I insist you are right,’ he said.

‘It’s worth trying.’

‘This is between ourselves.’

‘Of course.’

‘Not even Colonel Finn.’

‘Least of all.’

‘Meanwhile you will start things off in the normal manner through
les voies hiérarchiques
.’

‘As soon as I get back.’

‘So I will get to work,’ said Kucherman. ‘I am grateful for the suggestion. The next time we meet, I hope I shall have had a word with Sir Magnus.’

I returned to Finn. He listened to the proposal to bring the Belgian Resistance Army to this country.

‘It’s pretty urgent?’

‘Vital, sir.’

‘We’ll try and move quickly, but I foresee difficulties. Good notion to train those boys over here. Get out a draft right away. Meanwhile I’ll consult the Brigadier about the best way of handling the matter. You’d better have a word with Staff Duties. It’s not going to be as easy to settle as Kucherman hopes.’

I got out the draft. Finally a tremendous minute was launched on its way that very afternoon. Bureaucratically speaking, grass had not grown under our feet; but this was only a beginning. That weekend was my free one. I told Isobel what I had suggested to Kucherman.

‘If the worst comes to the worst we can invoke Matilda.’

Neither of us had seen Matilda since she had married Sir Magnus Donners.

‘It’s just a long shot.’

On Monday morning a summons came from Finn as soon as he arrived in his room. I went up there.

‘This Belgian affair.’

‘Yes, sir?’

Finn passed his hands over the smooth ivory surfaces of his skull.

‘The most extraordinary thing has happened.’

‘Yes, sir?’

‘An order has come down from the Highest Level of All to say it is to be treated as top priority. The chaps are to come over the moment their accommodation is decided upon. Things like financial details can be worked out later. All other minor matters too. Tell Blackhead he can talk to the PM about it, if he isn’t satisfied.’

‘This is splendid, sir.’

Finn put on the face he usually assumed when about to go deaf, but did not do so.

‘Providential,’ he said. ‘Can’t understand it. It just shows how the Old Man’s got his finger on every pulse. I don’t know whether Kucherman did – well, a bit of intriguing. He’s a very able fellow, and in the circumstances it would have been almost justified. You will attend a conference on the subject under the DSD at eleven o’clock this morning, all branches concerned being represented.’

The Director of Staff Duties was the general responsible for planning matters. When I next saw Kucherman, we agreed things had gone through with remarkable smoothness. The name of Sir Magnus Donners was not mentioned when we discussed certain administrative details. Thinking over the incident after, it was easy to see how a taste for intrigue, as Finn called it, could develop in people.

FIVE

During the period between the Potsdam Conference and the dropping of the first atomic bomb, I read in the paper one morning that Widmerpool was engaged to Pamela Flitton. This piece of news was undramatically announced in the column dedicated to such items. It was not even top of the list. Pamela was described as daughter of Captain Cosmo Flitton and Mrs Flavia Wisebite; an address in Montana (suggesting a ranch) showed her father was still alive and living in America. Her mother, whose style indicated divorce from Harrison Wisebite (sunk, so far as I knew, without a trace), had come to rest in the country round Glimber, possibly a cottage on the estate. Widmerpool  – ‘Colonel K. G. Widmerpool, OBE’ – was based on a block of flats in Victoria Street. Apart from stories already vaguely propagated by Farebrother and Duport, there was no clue to how this engagement had come about. Surprising as it was, the immediate implications seemed no more than that a piece of colossal folly on both their parts would soon be readjusted by another announcement saying the marriage was ‘off’. The world was in such a state of flux that such inanities were only to be expected in one quarter or another. Only later, considered in cold blood, did the arrangement appear credible; even then for less than obvious reasons.

‘Drove for the Section, did she?’ said Pennistone. ‘I never remember those girls’ faces. I haven’t heard anything of Widmerpool for some time. I suppose he’s now passed into a world beyond good and evil.’

I had not set eyes on Widmerpool myself since the day Farebrother had recoiled from saluting him in Whitehall.

Although, as an archetypal figure, one of those fabulous monsters that haunt the recesses of the individual imagination, he held an immutable place in my own private mythology, with the passing of Stringham and Templer, I no longer knew anyone to whom he might present quite the same absorbing spectacle, accordingly with whom the present conjunction could be at all adequately discussed. By this time, in any case, changes both inside and outside the Section were so many it was hard to keep pace with them. Allied relationships had become more complex with the defeat of the enemy, especially in the comportment of new political regimes that had emerged in formerly occupied countries – Poland’s, for example- some of which were making difficulties about such matters as the ‘Victory march’; in general the manner in which Peace was to be celebrated in London. In other merely administrative respects the Section’s position was becoming less pivotal than formerly, some of the Allies – France, the Netherlands, Czechoslovakia – sending over special military missions. These were naturally less familiar with the routines of liaison than colleagues long worked with, while the new entities, unlike the old ones, were sometimes authorized to deal directly with whatever branch of the Services specially concerned them.

‘Not all the fruits of Victory are appetising to the palate,’ said Pennistone. ‘An issue of gall and wormwood has been laid on.’

By that time he was himself on the point of demobilization. He had dealt with the Poles up to the end. Dempster and others had gone already. The Old Guard, like the soldiers in the song, were fading away, leaving me as final residue, Finn’s second-in-command. In a month or two I should also enter that intermediate state of grace, technically ‘on leave’, through which in due course civilian life was once more attained. Finn, for reasons best known to himself – he could certainly have claimed early release had he so wished – remained on in his old appointment, where there was still plenty of work to do. Other branches round about were, of course, dwindling in the same manner. All sorts of unexpected individuals, barely remembered, or at best remembered only for acrimonious interchanges in the course of doing business with them, would from time to time turn up in our room to say goodbye, hearty or sheepish, according to temperament. Quite often they behaved as if these farewells were addressed to the only friends they had ever known.

‘My Dad’s taking me away from this school,’ said Borrit, when he shook my hand. ‘I’m going into his office. He’s got some jolly pretty typists.’

‘Wish mine would buck up and remove me too.’

‘He says the boys don’t learn anything here, just get up to nasty tricks,’ said Borrit. ‘I’m going to have a room to myself, he says. What do you think of that? Hope my secretary looks like that AT with black hair and a white face who once drove us for a week or two, can’t remember her name.’

‘Going back to the same job?’

‘You bet – the old oranges and lemons/bells of St Clement’s.’

As always, after making a joke, Borrit began to look sad again.

‘We’ll have to meet.’

‘Course we will.’

‘When I want to buy a banana.’

‘Anything up to twenty-thousand bunches, say the word and I’ll fix a discount.’

‘Will Sydney Stebbings be one of your customers now?’

About eighteen months before, Stebbings, suffering another nervous breakdown, had been invalided out of the army. He was presumed to have returned to the retail side of the fruit business. Borrit shook his head.

‘Didn’t you hear about poor old Syd? Gassed himself. Felt as browned off out of the army as in it. I used to think it was those Latin-Americans got him down, but it was just Syd’s moody nature.’

Borrit and I never did manage to meet again. Some years after the war I ran into Slade in Jermyn Street, by the hat shop with the stuffed cat in the window smoking a cigarette. He had a brown paper bag in his hand and said he had been buying cheese. We had a word together. He was teaching languages at a school in the Midlands and by then a headmastership in the offing. I asked if he had any news, among others, of Borrit.

‘Borrit died a few months ago,’ said Slade. ‘Sad. Bad luck too, because he was going to marry a widow with a little money. She’d been the wife of a man in his business.’

I wondered whether on this final confrontation Borrit had brought off the never realized ‘free poke’, before the grave claimed him. The war drawing to a close must have something to do with this readiness for marriage on the part of those like Borrit, Widmerpool, Farebrother, no longer in their first youth. These were only a few of them among the dozens who had never tried it before, or tried it without much success. Norah Tolland spoke with great disapproval of Pamela Flitton’s engagement

‘Pam must need a Father-Figure,’ she said. ‘I think it’s a tragic mistake. Like Titania and Bottom.’

Not long before the Victory Service, announced to take place at St Paul’s, Prasad’s Embassy gave a party on their National Day. It was a bigger affair than usual on account of the advent of Peace, primarily a civilian gathering, though a strong military element was included among the guests. The huge saloons, built at the turn of the century, were done up in sage green, the style of decoration displaying a nostalgic leaning towards Art Nouveau, a period always sympathetic to Asian taste. Gauthier de Graef, ethnically confused, had been anxious to know whether there were eunuchs in the ladies’ apartments above the rooms where we were being entertained. Accordingly, to settle the point, on which he was very insistent, Madame Philidor and Isobel arranged to be conducted to their hostess in purdah, promising to report on this matter, though without much hope of returning with an affirmative answer. They had just set out on this visit of exploration, when I saw Farebrother moving purposefully through the crowd. I went over to congratulate him on his marriage. He was immensely cordial.

‘I hear Geraldine’s an old friend of yours, Nicholas. You knew her in her “Tuffy” days.’

I said I did not think I had ever quite had the courage to address her by that nickname when she had still been Miss Weedon.

‘I mean when she was Mrs Foxe’s secretary,’ said Farebrother. ‘Then you knew the old General too. Splendid old fellow, he must have been. Wish I’d met him. Both he and Mrs Foxe opened up a lot of very useful contacts for Geraldine, which she’s never lost sight of. They’re going to stand me in good stead too. A wonderful woman. Couldn’t believe my ears when she said she’d be mine.’

He seemed very pleased about it all.

‘She’s not here tonight.’

‘Too busy.’

‘Catching spies?’

‘Ah, so you know where she’s working? We try to keep that a secret. No, Geraldine’s getting our new flat straight. We’ve actually found somewhere to live. Not too easy these days. Quite a reasonable rent for the neighbourhood, which is a good one. Now I must go and have a word with old Lord Perkins over there. He married poor Peter Templer’s elder sister, Babs, as I expect you know.’

‘I didn’t know.’

‘One of the creations of the first Labour Government. Of course he’s getting on now – but, with Labour in again, we all need friends at court.’

‘Did anything more ever come out as to what happened to Peter?’

‘Nothing, so far as I know. He was absolutely set on doing that job. As soon as he heard I was going to work with those people he got on to me to try and get him something of the sort. You ought to meet Lord Perkins. I think Babs found him a change for the better after that rather dreadful fellow Stripling. I ran into Stripling in Aldershot about eighteen months ago. He was lecturing to the troops. Just come from the Glasshouse, where he’d given a talk on the early days of motor-racing. Someone told me Babs had been a great help to her present husband when he was writing his last book on industrial relations.’

He smiled and moved off. Widmerpool arrived in the room at that moment. He stood looking round, evidently deciding where best to launch an attack. Farebrother must have seen him, because he suddenly swerved into a new direction to avoid contact. This seemed a good opportunity to congratulate Widmerpool too. I went over to him. He seemed very pleased with himself.

‘Thank you very much, Nicholas. Some people have expressed the opinion, without much delicacy, that Pamela is too young for me. That is not my own view at all. A man is as young as he feels. I had quite a scene with my mother, I’m afraid. My mother is getting an old lady now, of course, and does not always know what she is talking about. As a matter of fact I am making arrangements for her to live, anyway temporarily, with some distant relations of ours in the Lowlands. It’s not too far from Glasgow. I think she will be happier with them than on her own, after I am married. She is in touch with one or two nice families on the Borders.’

This was a very different tone from that Widmerpool was in the habit of using about his mother in the old days. It seemed likely the engagement represented one of his conscious decisions to put life on a new footing. He embarked on these from time to time, with consequent rearrangements all round. It looked as if sending Mrs Widmerpool into exile was going to be one such. It was hard to feel wholly condemnatory. I enquired about the circumstances in which he had met Pamela, a matter about which I was curious.

‘In Cairo. An extraordinary chance. As you know, my work throughout the war has never given me a second for social life. Even tonight I am here only because Pamela herself wanted to come – she is arriving at any moment – and I shall leave as soon as I have introduced her. I requested the Ambassador as a personal favour that I might bring my fiancée. He was charming about it. To tell the truth, I have to dine with the Minister tonight. A lot to talk about. Questions of policy. Adjustment to new régimes. But I was telling you how Pamela and I met. In Cairo there was trouble about my returning plane. One had been shot down, resulting in my having to kick my heels in the place for twenty-four hours. You know how vexatious that sort of situation is to me. I was taken to a place called Groppi’s. Someone introduced us. Before I knew where I was, we were dining together and on our way to a night-club. I had not been to a place of that sort for years. Had, indeed, quite forgotten what they were like. The fact was we had a most enjoyable evening.’

He laughed quite hysterically.

‘Then, as luck would have it, Pam was posted back to England. I should have added that she was working as secretary in one of the secret organizations there. I was glad about her return, because I don’t think she moved in a very good set in Cairo. When she arrived in London, she sent me a postcard – and what a postcard.’

Widmerpool giggled violently, then recovered himself.

‘It arrived one morning in that basement where I work night and day,’ he said. ‘You can imagine how pleased I was. It seems extraordinary that we hardly knew each other then, and now I’ve got a great big photograph of her on my desk.’

He was almost gasping. The words vividly conjured up his subterranean life. Photographs on a desk were never without interest. People who placed them there belonged to a special category in their human relationships. There was, for example, that peculiarly tortured-looking midshipman in a leather-and-talc frame in the room of a Section with which ours was often in contact. Some lines of John Davidson suddenly came into my head:

And so they wait, while empires sprung
Of hatred thunder past above,
Deep in the earth for ever young
Tannhauser and the Queen of Love.*

On reflection, the situation was not a very close parallel, because it was most unlikely Pamela had ever visited Widmerpool’s underground office. On the other hand, she herself could easily be envisaged as one of the myriad incarnations of Venus, even if Widmerpool were not much of a Tannhauser. At least he seemed in a similar way to have stumbled on the secret entrance to the court of the Paphian goddess in the Hollow Hill where his own duties were diurnally enacted. That was some qualification.

‘You know she’s Charles Stringham’s niece?’

‘Naturally I am aware of that.’

The question had not pleased him.

‘No news of Stringham, I suppose?* ‘There has been, as a matter of fact.’ Widmerpool seemed half angry, half desirous of making some statement about this.

‘He was captured,’ he said. ‘He didn’t survive.’

Scarcely anything was known still about individual prisoners in Japanese POW camps, except that the lives of many of them had certainly been saved by the Bomb. News came through slowly from the Far East. I asked how Widmerpool could speak so definitely.