Read Online A Test to Destruction by Henry Williamson - Free Book Online
Authors: Henry Williamson
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last November. Colonel Moggerhanger is trainin’ new bandsmen.”
“ Colonel Moggerhanger?” For a moment he felt devastated. Could it be that ‘Spectre’ West had left the battalion? Sergeant Tonks was reassuring.
“The Quartermaster, sir, has served forty years with the R’g’mint, ’listed in ’seventy-seven as a band-boy, sir. The storeman is sewing on his stars over there. Promotion come through last night, sir.”
Phillip went to speak to the storeman, who held up a jacket coloured by many ribands, headed by those of D.S.O. and D.C.M. “I think we’d better find Colonel Moggerhanger, just to let him know we’ve arrived,” he said to Tonks.
“You’ll find him in the next hut, sir. The bandsmen are trying out those Jerry instruments. Jerry pinched ours in the counter-attack, sir, at Graincourt.”
“Just like this war! We get Jerry’s band, and he pinches ours! Come on, chaps, let’s go next door!”
“Well, sir, if you’ll excuse me a moment——” the sergeant paused. “You see, sir, the Quartermaster can be a bit of a caution, sir. His discharge was due from the 1st battalion when they were ordered to Italy just before Christmas, and he was on the way to Blighty when orders come through cancelling all time-served ranks going home. The Quartermaster is liable to be a little uncertain in temper as a consequence.”
Outside the adjoining semicircular shelter of rust and tarred wood Phillip hesitated. “All the same, I think we ought to make our arrival known to him, as a matter of courtesy,” he said to the two junior officers with him. His hand was on the handle when the door opened and a big man came out. Phillip stepped back; his salute was ignored as the Quartermaster strode away, muttering curses.
“That’s that!” said Phillip.
It was five o’clock. The three had had little food since dinner the night before at Boulogne. “He’s the only officer here, apparently, so let’s ask him where we can get some grub.”
They came upon the Quartermaster talking to what lookedlike the transport sergeant. The three saluted again, and Phillip, as senior, went forward. The Quartermaster continued to ignore him. So he saluted once more before turning away to find the cookhouse. “Char will probably be going.”
When at length they found the cookhouse, there was Mogger-hanger before them. Again Phillip’s salute was ignored. They walked on. “This is all rot, you chaps! He may be an honorary lieutenant-colonel, but dammit, we should be treated as guests! Lord Satchville wouldn’t behave like this! Leave it to me. You two wait here.”
He went back to the cookhouse, and standing at attention, cried out “Sir!” before presenting the Quartermaster with a salute delivered with elbow parallel with the ground, lower arm stiff and rigid and hand vibrating level with right ear in the Guards’ manner. The Quartermaster responded with a bellowing cough, followed by hoicking to clear his throat.
“Lieutenant Maddison, reporting for duty, sir!”
The Quartermaster spat into a lime-washed dustbin by the cookhouse door. “Pick the bones out of that,” he said.
Phillip took this to mean that they could help themselves, as he led the way into the cookhouse. There they drank sweet tea and wolfed hunks of bread, butter and jam; and feeling optimistic left to look round the camp. On their way they passed the hut in which the band was apparently playing rag-time. Round the corner came the Quartermaster. They walked on pretending not to see him, and had gone a few yards when a voice roared out behind, “Come ’ere, you!”
Phillip turned and went back. “You want me, sir?”
“Yes, you, you long streak of piss on a lamp-post! Don’t you know you salute a superior officer when you pass one?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then why didn’t you salute me?”
“Well, sir, I’ve saluted you six times already, but as you didn’t take any notice——”
“How the hell d’you know I didn’t
“ Colonel Moggerhanger?” For a moment he felt devastated. Could it be that ‘Spectre’ West had left the battalion? Sergeant Tonks was reassuring.
“The Quartermaster, sir, has served forty years with the R’g’mint, ’listed in ’seventy-seven as a band-boy, sir. The storeman is sewing on his stars over there. Promotion come through last night, sir.”
Phillip went to speak to the storeman, who held up a jacket coloured by many ribands, headed by those of D.S.O. and D.C.M. “I think we’d better find Colonel Moggerhanger, just to let him know we’ve arrived,” he said to Tonks.
“You’ll find him in the next hut, sir. The bandsmen are trying out those Jerry instruments. Jerry pinched ours in the counter-attack, sir, at Graincourt.”
“Just like this war! We get Jerry’s band, and he pinches ours! Come on, chaps, let’s go next door!”
“Well, sir, if you’ll excuse me a moment——” the sergeant paused. “You see, sir, the Quartermaster can be a bit of a caution, sir. His discharge was due from the 1st battalion when they were ordered to Italy just before Christmas, and he was on the way to Blighty when orders come through cancelling all time-served ranks going home. The Quartermaster is liable to be a little uncertain in temper as a consequence.”
Outside the adjoining semicircular shelter of rust and tarred wood Phillip hesitated. “All the same, I think we ought to make our arrival known to him, as a matter of courtesy,” he said to the two junior officers with him. His hand was on the handle when the door opened and a big man came out. Phillip stepped back; his salute was ignored as the Quartermaster strode away, muttering curses.
“That’s that!” said Phillip.
It was five o’clock. The three had had little food since dinner the night before at Boulogne. “He’s the only officer here, apparently, so let’s ask him where we can get some grub.”
They came upon the Quartermaster talking to what lookedlike the transport sergeant. The three saluted again, and Phillip, as senior, went forward. The Quartermaster continued to ignore him. So he saluted once more before turning away to find the cookhouse. “Char will probably be going.”
When at length they found the cookhouse, there was Mogger-hanger before them. Again Phillip’s salute was ignored. They walked on. “This is all rot, you chaps! He may be an honorary lieutenant-colonel, but dammit, we should be treated as guests! Lord Satchville wouldn’t behave like this! Leave it to me. You two wait here.”
He went back to the cookhouse, and standing at attention, cried out “Sir!” before presenting the Quartermaster with a salute delivered with elbow parallel with the ground, lower arm stiff and rigid and hand vibrating level with right ear in the Guards’ manner. The Quartermaster responded with a bellowing cough, followed by hoicking to clear his throat.
“Lieutenant Maddison, reporting for duty, sir!”
The Quartermaster spat into a lime-washed dustbin by the cookhouse door. “Pick the bones out of that,” he said.
Phillip took this to mean that they could help themselves, as he led the way into the cookhouse. There they drank sweet tea and wolfed hunks of bread, butter and jam; and feeling optimistic left to look round the camp. On their way they passed the hut in which the band was apparently playing rag-time. Round the corner came the Quartermaster. They walked on pretending not to see him, and had gone a few yards when a voice roared out behind, “Come ’ere, you!”
Phillip turned and went back. “You want me, sir?”
“Yes, you, you long streak of piss on a lamp-post! Don’t you know you salute a superior officer when you pass one?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then why didn’t you salute me?”
“Well, sir, I’ve saluted you six times already, but as you didn’t take any notice——”
“How the hell d’you know I didn’t
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