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Authors: John Wilcox
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They have a good fighting record, as well as being fine swingers of a shovel.’ He consulted his list again. ‘Then we have a half company of sappers and miners, the usual backup specialists: field hospital wallahs, field engineers, telegraph and postal detachments. Oh – and a machine gun attachment of the 1st Battalion of the Norfolk Regiment.’
Fonthill jerked back his head. ‘Are these the only white troops?’
‘Afraid so, sir. But this is only the first contingent, don’t forget. Depending on what opposition we meet, we are bringing up reinforcements from Bengal to stand by at the border.’
‘Hmmm. I should think so.’ He leant back on the stool. ‘Everyone thinks that the Tibetans are not a militaristic race, just because it is a society dominated by religion and the monks and lamas. But, don’t forget they invaded Sikkinese territory back in ’86 and it took quite an effort, I remember, to dislodge them. By the sound of it, ours is not exactly a meticulously prepared invading army.’
‘Quite so, sir. But, as I say, so far so good. There has been no opposition so far.’
‘Good. Let’s hope it stays that way. Thank you for your help. We will join the pack train tomorrow morning.’
‘One more thing, sir.’
‘Yes?’
‘It is a little brisk down here, although not too bad in the sun. And the valley up ahead is not unpleasant. But up in the mountains the temperature will plummet.’ He pulled a chit towards him and began to scribble. ‘You say you found some garments back at the railhead but you will need the best protection there is.’ He looked up. ‘How many are you?’
‘Four. Three men, one woman.’
‘Woman?’ The Major’s jaw sagged for a moment.
‘Yes. My wife is the accredited correspondent with the column for
The Morning Post.’
Fonthill experienced a touch of pride in hearing the words and immediately felt rather ashamed of himself. He coughed. ‘No need to make special provision for her, though. She can look after herself, you know.’
‘Ah yes … er … I am sure.’ He continued scribbling then offered the chit. ‘Do take this to the quartermaster – he’s in the large tent further down on the left – if you feel you are inadequately catered forin terms of heavy gear. It is best to be careful.’ He stood and held out his hand. ‘Good luck, sir. I hope I shall be joining you up there soon.’
‘Very kind of you, Major. Thank you.’
The next morning Fonthill and his companions were up long before the emerging sun had begun to make the mountain tops stand out in jagged relief. The Major’s benevolence with warm clothing was immediately appreciated as they began dismantling the tents and loading the mule in the semi-darkness. They all now wore long sheepskin,
poshteen
coats, special, lined Gilgit boots and fur hats. As they worked, Fonthill realised that the climatic conditions would be particularly difficult for Sunil, who had been living in moist, steamy Madras in the south only a few months before.
The youth, however, seem impervious to the cold. ‘I lived in Tibet on high, big plateau until I was twelve and went with parents to India,’ he grinned. ‘I remember the cold and the wind and will get used to it again, sahib. But I am very glad of this big coat and hat now. Oh yes. Very glad.’
Jenkins, his breath floating out before him like a cloud, called out as he tightened the girth strap on the mule: ‘The lad is goin’ to be a good shot, look you. While you was talkin’ to the Major last night, I was teachin’ ’im on the old Lee Metford. We nearly turned out the guard, them thinkin’ we was bein’ attacked by the terrible Tibetans. But the lad was good. ’E would make a good soldier, I’m thinkin’.’
‘Glad to hear it, Sunil. Well done.’
The youth’s teeth flashed white.
The four joined the small column at its head, where it was led by a young lieutenant, riding a pony. ‘Mind if we come along?’ asked Fonthill.
‘Good
Fonthill jerked back his head. ‘Are these the only white troops?’
‘Afraid so, sir. But this is only the first contingent, don’t forget. Depending on what opposition we meet, we are bringing up reinforcements from Bengal to stand by at the border.’
‘Hmmm. I should think so.’ He leant back on the stool. ‘Everyone thinks that the Tibetans are not a militaristic race, just because it is a society dominated by religion and the monks and lamas. But, don’t forget they invaded Sikkinese territory back in ’86 and it took quite an effort, I remember, to dislodge them. By the sound of it, ours is not exactly a meticulously prepared invading army.’
‘Quite so, sir. But, as I say, so far so good. There has been no opposition so far.’
‘Good. Let’s hope it stays that way. Thank you for your help. We will join the pack train tomorrow morning.’
‘One more thing, sir.’
‘Yes?’
‘It is a little brisk down here, although not too bad in the sun. And the valley up ahead is not unpleasant. But up in the mountains the temperature will plummet.’ He pulled a chit towards him and began to scribble. ‘You say you found some garments back at the railhead but you will need the best protection there is.’ He looked up. ‘How many are you?’
‘Four. Three men, one woman.’
‘Woman?’ The Major’s jaw sagged for a moment.
‘Yes. My wife is the accredited correspondent with the column for
The Morning Post.’
Fonthill experienced a touch of pride in hearing the words and immediately felt rather ashamed of himself. He coughed. ‘No need to make special provision for her, though. She can look after herself, you know.’
‘Ah yes … er … I am sure.’ He continued scribbling then offered the chit. ‘Do take this to the quartermaster – he’s in the large tent further down on the left – if you feel you are inadequately catered forin terms of heavy gear. It is best to be careful.’ He stood and held out his hand. ‘Good luck, sir. I hope I shall be joining you up there soon.’
‘Very kind of you, Major. Thank you.’
The next morning Fonthill and his companions were up long before the emerging sun had begun to make the mountain tops stand out in jagged relief. The Major’s benevolence with warm clothing was immediately appreciated as they began dismantling the tents and loading the mule in the semi-darkness. They all now wore long sheepskin,
poshteen
coats, special, lined Gilgit boots and fur hats. As they worked, Fonthill realised that the climatic conditions would be particularly difficult for Sunil, who had been living in moist, steamy Madras in the south only a few months before.
The youth, however, seem impervious to the cold. ‘I lived in Tibet on high, big plateau until I was twelve and went with parents to India,’ he grinned. ‘I remember the cold and the wind and will get used to it again, sahib. But I am very glad of this big coat and hat now. Oh yes. Very glad.’
Jenkins, his breath floating out before him like a cloud, called out as he tightened the girth strap on the mule: ‘The lad is goin’ to be a good shot, look you. While you was talkin’ to the Major last night, I was teachin’ ’im on the old Lee Metford. We nearly turned out the guard, them thinkin’ we was bein’ attacked by the terrible Tibetans. But the lad was good. ’E would make a good soldier, I’m thinkin’.’
‘Glad to hear it, Sunil. Well done.’
The youth’s teeth flashed white.
The four joined the small column at its head, where it was led by a young lieutenant, riding a pony. ‘Mind if we come along?’ asked Fonthill.
‘Good
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