Part 41 (1/2)
At Chovensbury the recruiting station was in the elementary schools.
Sabre entered a large room filled with men in various stages of dressing, odorous of humanity, very noisy. It was a roughish collection: the men mostly of the labouring or artisan cla.s.ses. At a table in the centre two soldiers with lance corporal's stripes were filling up blue forms with the answers to questions barked out at the file of men who shuffled before them. As each form was completed, it was pushed at the man interrogated with ”Get undressed.”
Sabre took his place in the chain. In one corner of the room a doctor in uniform was testing eyesight. Pa.s.sed on from there each recruit joined a group wearing only greatcoat or s.h.i.+rt and standing about a stove near the door. At intervals the door opened and three nude men, coat or s.h.i.+rt in hand, entered, and a sergeant bawled, ”Next three!”
Sabre was presently one of the three. Of the two who companioned him one was an undersized little individual wearing a truss, the other appeared to be wearing a suit of deep brown tights out of which his red neck and red hands thrust conspicuously. Sabre realised with a slight shock that the brown suit was the grime of the unbathed. Across the pa.s.sage another room was entered. The recruits dropped their final covering and were directed, one to two sergeants who operated weights, a height gauge and a measuring tape; another to an officer who said, ”Stand on one leg.
Bend your toes. Now on the other. Toes. Stretch out your arms. Work your fingers. Squat on your heels.” The third recruit went to an officer who dabbed chests with a stethoscope and said, ”Had any illnesses?” When the recruit had pa.s.sed through each performance he walked to two officers seated with enrolment forms at a table, was spoken to, and then recovered his discarded garment and walked out. The whole business took about three minutes. They were certainly whizzing them through.
Sabre came last to the officer with the stethoscope. He was just polis.h.i.+ng off the undersized little man with the truss. ”Take that thing off. Cough. How long have you had this? Go along.” He turned to Sabre, dabbed perfunctorily at his lungs, then at his heart. ”Wait a minute.”
He applied his ear to the stethoscope again. Then he looked up at Sabre's face. ”Had any illnesses?” ”Not one in my life.” ”Shortness of breath?” ”Not the least. I was in the XV at school.” Sabre's voice was tremulous with eagerness. The doctor's eyes appeared to exchange a message with him. They gave the slightest twinkle. ”Go along.”
He went to the table where sat the two officers with the paper forms.
”Name?” ”Sabre.” The officer nearer him drew a form towards him and poised a fountain pen over it. Sabre felt it extraordinarily odd to be standing stark naked before two men fully dressed. In his rejection at Tidborough the time before this had not happened.
”Any complaints?”
Sabre was surprised at such consideration. He thought the reference was to his treatment during examination. ”No.”
The officer, who appeared to be short-tempered, glanced again at the form and then looked quickly at him. ”Absolutely nothing wrong with you?”
”Oh, I thought you meant--”
The officer _was_ short-tempered. ”Never mind what you _thought_. You hear what I'm asking you, don't you?”
It was Sabre's first experience of a manner with which he was to become more familiar. ”Sorry. No, nothing whatever.”
The fountain pen made a note. ”Get off.”
He could have shouted aloud. He thought, ”By G.o.d!”
In the dressing room a sergeant bawled, ”All recruits!”--paused and glared about the room and drew breath for further discharge. This mannerism Sabre was also to become accustomed to: in the Army, always ”the cautionary word” first when an order was given. The sergeant then discharged: ”All recruits past the doctor proceed to the room under this for swearing in. When sworn, to office adjoining for pay, card and armlet. And get a move on with it!”
VIII
The most stupendously elated man in all England was presently riding to Penny Green on Sabre's bicycle. On his arm blazed the khaki bra.s.sard, in the breast pocket of his waistcoat, specially cleared to give private accommodation to so glorious a prize, were a half-crown and two pennies, the most thrillingly magnificent sum he had ever earned,--his army pay.
His singing thought was, ”I'm in the Army! I'm in the Army! I don't care for anything now. By gad, I can't believe it. I'm in the war at last!”
His terrific thought was, ”Good luck have thee with thine honour; ride on ... and thy right hand shall show thee terrible things.”
He burst into the house and discharged the torrent of his elation on to Mabel. ”I say, I'm in the Army. They've pa.s.sed me. Look here! Look at my Derby armlet! And look at this. That's my pay! Just look, Mabel--two and eightpence.”
He extended the coins to her in his hand. ”Look!”
She gave her sudden burst of laughter. ”How perfectly ridiculous! Two and eightpence! Whyever did you take it?”
”Take it? Why, it's my pay. My army pay. I've never been so proud of anything in my life. I'll keep these coins forever. Where shall I put them?” He looked around for a shrine worthy enough. ”No, I can't put them anywhere yet. I want to keep looking at them. I say, you're glad I'm in, aren't you? Do say something.”
She gave her laugh. ”But you're not in. You do get so fearfully excited.
After all, it's only this Lord Derby thing where they call the men up in age cla.s.ses, the papers say. Yours can't come for months. You may not go at all.”