Read Online Unconditional surrender by Evelyn Waugh - Free Book Online
Authors: Evelyn Waugh
Tags: Fiction
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viaggiato in quasi ogni parte d’ltalia.’
The colonel resumed his native tongue. ‘That sounds all right. You wouldn’t be much use to us if you only talked Sicilian. You’ll be working the north, in Venetia probably.’
‘Li per me tutto andrà liscio,’ said Guy.
‘Yes,’ said the colonel, ‘yes, I see. Well let’s talk English. The work we have in mind is, of course, secret. As you probably know the advance in Italy is bogged down at the moment. We can’t expect much movement there till the spring. The Germans have taken over in force. Some of the wops seem to be on our side. Call themselves “partisani”, pretty left wing by the sound of them. Nothing wrong with that of course. Ask Sir Ralph Brompton. We shall be putting in various small parties to keep GHQ informed about what they’re up to and if possible arrange for drops of equipment in suitable areas. An intelligence officer and a signalman are the essentials of each group. You’ve done Commando training, I see. Did that include parachuting?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Well, you’d better take a course. No objection I suppose?
‘None whatever.’
‘You’re a bit old but you’ll be surprised at the ages of some of our chaps. You may not have to jump. We have various methods of getting our men in. Any experience of small boats?’
Guy thought of the little sailing-craft he had once kept at Santa Dulcina, of his gay excursion to Dakar and the phantasmagoric crossing from Crete, and answered truthfully, ‘Yes sir.’
‘Good. That may come in useful. You will be hearing from us in due course. Meanwhile the whole thing is on the secret list. You belong at Bellamy’s, don’t you? A lot of loose talk gets reported from there. Keep quiet.’
‘Very good, sir.’
‘A rivederci, eh?’
Guy saluted and left the office.
When he returned to the Transit Camp he found a telegram from his sister, Angela, announcing that his father had died suddenly and peacefully at Matchet.
3
ALL the railway stations in the kingdom displayed the challenge: IS YOUR JOURNEY REALLY NECESSARY?
Guy and his brother-in-law caught the early, crowded train from Paddington on the morning of the funeral.
Guy had a black arm band attached to his tunic. Box-Bender wore a black tie with a subfusc suit of clothes and a bowler.
‘As you see, I’m not wearing a top hat,’ said Box-Bender. ‘Seems out of place these days. I don’t suppose there’ll be many people there. Peregrine went down the day before yesterday. He’ll have fixed everything up. Have you brought sandwiches?’
‘No.’
‘I don’t know where we’ll get lunch. Can’t expect the convent to do anything about us. I hope Peregrine and Angela have arranged something at the pub.’
It was barely light when they steamed out of the shuttered and patched station. The corridor was full of standing sailors travelling to Plymouth. The little bulbs over the seats had been disconnected. It was difficult to read the flimsy newspapers they carried.
‘I always had a great respect for your father,’ said Box-Bender. Then he fell asleep. Guy remained open-eyed throughout the three-hour journey to the junction at Taunton.
Uncle Peregrine had arranged for a special tram-like coach to be attached to the local train. Here were assembled Miss Vavasour, the priest from Matchet and the headmaster of the school of Our Lady of Victory. There were many others wearing mourning of various degrees of depth, whom Guy knew he should recognize, but could not. They greeted him with murmured words of condolence, and seeing it was necessary, reminded him of their names – Tresham, Bigod, Englefield, Arundell, Hornyold, Plessington, Jerningham, and Dacre – a muster of recusant names – all nearly or remotely cousins of his. Their journey was really necessary.
Out of his hearing Miss Vavasour said of Guy, sighing: ‘
Fin de ligne
.’
Noon was the hour appointed for the beginning of the Requiem Mass. The local train was due
The colonel resumed his native tongue. ‘That sounds all right. You wouldn’t be much use to us if you only talked Sicilian. You’ll be working the north, in Venetia probably.’
‘Li per me tutto andrà liscio,’ said Guy.
‘Yes,’ said the colonel, ‘yes, I see. Well let’s talk English. The work we have in mind is, of course, secret. As you probably know the advance in Italy is bogged down at the moment. We can’t expect much movement there till the spring. The Germans have taken over in force. Some of the wops seem to be on our side. Call themselves “partisani”, pretty left wing by the sound of them. Nothing wrong with that of course. Ask Sir Ralph Brompton. We shall be putting in various small parties to keep GHQ informed about what they’re up to and if possible arrange for drops of equipment in suitable areas. An intelligence officer and a signalman are the essentials of each group. You’ve done Commando training, I see. Did that include parachuting?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Well, you’d better take a course. No objection I suppose?
‘None whatever.’
‘You’re a bit old but you’ll be surprised at the ages of some of our chaps. You may not have to jump. We have various methods of getting our men in. Any experience of small boats?’
Guy thought of the little sailing-craft he had once kept at Santa Dulcina, of his gay excursion to Dakar and the phantasmagoric crossing from Crete, and answered truthfully, ‘Yes sir.’
‘Good. That may come in useful. You will be hearing from us in due course. Meanwhile the whole thing is on the secret list. You belong at Bellamy’s, don’t you? A lot of loose talk gets reported from there. Keep quiet.’
‘Very good, sir.’
‘A rivederci, eh?’
Guy saluted and left the office.
When he returned to the Transit Camp he found a telegram from his sister, Angela, announcing that his father had died suddenly and peacefully at Matchet.
3
ALL the railway stations in the kingdom displayed the challenge: IS YOUR JOURNEY REALLY NECESSARY?
Guy and his brother-in-law caught the early, crowded train from Paddington on the morning of the funeral.
Guy had a black arm band attached to his tunic. Box-Bender wore a black tie with a subfusc suit of clothes and a bowler.
‘As you see, I’m not wearing a top hat,’ said Box-Bender. ‘Seems out of place these days. I don’t suppose there’ll be many people there. Peregrine went down the day before yesterday. He’ll have fixed everything up. Have you brought sandwiches?’
‘No.’
‘I don’t know where we’ll get lunch. Can’t expect the convent to do anything about us. I hope Peregrine and Angela have arranged something at the pub.’
It was barely light when they steamed out of the shuttered and patched station. The corridor was full of standing sailors travelling to Plymouth. The little bulbs over the seats had been disconnected. It was difficult to read the flimsy newspapers they carried.
‘I always had a great respect for your father,’ said Box-Bender. Then he fell asleep. Guy remained open-eyed throughout the three-hour journey to the junction at Taunton.
Uncle Peregrine had arranged for a special tram-like coach to be attached to the local train. Here were assembled Miss Vavasour, the priest from Matchet and the headmaster of the school of Our Lady of Victory. There were many others wearing mourning of various degrees of depth, whom Guy knew he should recognize, but could not. They greeted him with murmured words of condolence, and seeing it was necessary, reminded him of their names – Tresham, Bigod, Englefield, Arundell, Hornyold, Plessington, Jerningham, and Dacre – a muster of recusant names – all nearly or remotely cousins of his. Their journey was really necessary.
Out of his hearing Miss Vavasour said of Guy, sighing: ‘
Fin de ligne
.’
Noon was the hour appointed for the beginning of the Requiem Mass. The local train was due
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