Part 15 (1/2)

They slept propped up against the bank for some hours; then they were moved further up the road into the little village of Souvir. It appeared that their new role was to act as Local Reserve, and that they could amuse themselves how they liked as long as they were prepared ”to move off at fifteen minutes' notice.”

The men broke into two big barns and made themselves tolerably comfortable. They lit little fires in the road and began to cook their breakfasts. The Officers of the Company billeted themselves on the hovel nearest the barns and set about the same object.

”I think,” mused the Senior Subaltern, ”that it would be an excellent idea if some of us went on a foraging expedition. I should not be at all surprised if we did not have to stop here for weeks. And there may be one or two things to be picked up--before the others.”

So two of them went off on a tour of inspection. Noticing bee-hives outside the house of the village priest, they went in and bought two large jars of liquid honey. An estaminet yielded a couple of bottles of Medoc, and a patisserie, most unexpectedly, some bread.

Having successfully settled their business, there was time to look around. Souvir was a bigger village than Poussey, and seemed to be teeming with troops, who looked as if they had been used to the place for years, and were likely to remain in it longer. The first object of interest was the church, which had been turned into a hospital for Germans, many of whom were sitting about on benches in the stone-flagged courtyard. The two Officers went in to have a closer look at them. The majority were so greyish pale, their hair such unlovely stubble, their temples so shrunken that the Subaltern pitied them in their morose dejection and slow-witted taciturnity.

”I don't think we'd better go into the church,” he said. ”They'd probably throw us out.”

They pa.s.sed through an archway in a huge medieval wall into the graveyard, and thence, by a sudden and complete transformation in time, colour and atmosphere, into a most delightful garden of magnificent proportions, with smooth lawns and sweeping drives. The chateau itself was scarcely in keeping with this stateliness. The impression it gave one came as an anti-climax. The Subaltern was beginning to develop a fine taste in French chateaux, but somehow this one did not rank with the others, although his brain reeled at the thought of the cost of it all. Probably that is why it failed as a work of art and beauty: it made one wonder how much it must have cost.

A pa.s.ser-by told them that it belonged to a certain woman whose name had been on everybody's lips, just before the war, and the information stimulated their interest. They wandered around, past silent fountains and over velvet lawns, stone terraces and gravel drives. On their way back they pa.s.sed one of the big bay windows on the ground floor of the chateau. It was open, and they caught the faint but distinctive aroma of disinfectant. The erstwhile billiard-room had obviously been converted into a hospital dressing-room. The place was deserted, and they turned away without the intuition entering into either of their heads that they themselves would before long be carried into that very room.

Souvir was apparently their headquarters for the time being, for if they moved away by day or night, they always marched back into it. And as, day by day, they saw the same sights and did the same things, the pa.s.sage of time did not leave such exact impressions on his mind as the changing sights and actions of the moving battles had done.

Compared with the days that had gone before they were divinely comfortable. Unless there was an alarm, they could sleep as long as they liked. There was not sufficient accommodation in the little hut, so the Officers commandeered a little shed at the side of it. Here there was plenty of straw, and for several mornings they lay dozing until eight or nine o'clock.

The men were quite happy in their barns, and would not begin to stir before seven o'clock. Then they would hear in their sleep confused sounds of tramping feet and shouts in the road outside.

The voice of the Quartermaster-Sergeant, distributing the rations, was always the most insistent.

”'_Ere_, who's 'ad that there tea?”

”Fourty-two Smith took it down the street, Cooler Sawgint.”

(When there is more than one man of the same name in a Battalion, the last two figures of his regimental number, are, as it were, hyphenated on to it. Brown's number was, say, 1965, so to prevent mistakes he was always '65 Brown, to distinguish him from all the other Browns.)

”Where's the Orderly Cor'pril of No. 5 Platoon?”

”Comin', Cooler Sawgint!”

Then another voice raised in pained expostulation--

”'_Ere_, look at '_im_--a hackin' up the bacon. Who d'ju think's comin'

after you?”

”Go and see why there ain't no rum, Watkins!”

”There ain't '_arf_ enough sugar for all them!”

”'And over my firewood, will ye, or I'll ...!”

And so on, and so forth. It was the tune to which they finally awoke every morning.

When it was impossible to maintain the pretence of being asleep any longer, they would get up and shake themselves. They had pa.s.sed the stage of wanting to take clothes off. Their uprising in the morning was as easy and simple as a dog's. Then, aided, perhaps, by one of their servants, they would set about getting their breakfast ready in the front room. The Subaltern discovered what a tremendous amount of trouble is entailed in the preparation of even the simplest meals. Tables to be moved, kettles to be filled, bread cut, jam and bully beef tins opened!

But each would have his own particular job, and they would soon be seated round the dirty table, drinking their tea out of cups, or their own mugs, and munching biscuits or bread.