eyed him for a moment and he ran his tongue along his lower lip. Then he gave a little flick of his head: ‘Well I came in the other way. By way of Sauchiehall Street, Barlinnie gaol, and the band. I was a boy piper.’
‘It sounds a much better training,’ the Colonel answered pleasantly, and Jock breathed heavily. Charlie took his first opportunity.
‘You’ll have another drink, Colonel?’
‘Forgive me. I’m rather tired. I think I’ll turn in after this one.’
‘Are you no going to have a dance?’ The flat eyes rested on him.
‘If you’ll forgive me,’ the Colonel said again. ‘I’ve had a long day.’
‘You drove up?’ Charlie asked.
‘Hell of a journey.’
Charlie was sympathetic. ‘Family and all?’
The Colonel looked down at his brandy. ‘I have no family. I’m by myself.’
Charlie smiled. He felt required to say something. ‘Then we won’t have to cope with the Colonel’s wife.’
But the Colonel did not smile. He paused and sipped his drink. He replied suddenly, ‘I suppose there’s that to it.’
Then, the dance over, Macmillan came to pay his respects. Macmillan very quickly pitched the conversation on to a higher social level: the shooting and the shooting set. He mentioned some names; some names of titled people; but he did not, of course, mention the title. The Colonel was very pleasant. He did not seem to remember any of these people very clearly. He did not have any names to give in exchange.
Jock’s head was cocked on one side. He had had enough whisky to make him persistent. ‘It’ll be some time since you were with the Battalion, I’m thinking.’
‘Yes, I feel quite a new boy. It’s some time since I’ve been with any battalion. I’ve been sitting behind a desk for a year.’
Charlie screwed up his face with horror. ‘Ghastly …’
Macmillan said, ‘Too boring.’ Then he went on: ‘One of the boys said you were at Sandhurst.’
The Colonel looked him in the eye.
‘That would be Simpson,’ he said, and Jock was surprised.
‘Aye. You’re right, now. He’s over there. And what was it you said you did before Sandhurst?’
‘I don’t think I did say.’ The Colonel was still very patient.
‘You didn’t?’
Charlie Scott and Sandy Macmillan glanced at each other. The Colonel ran the tip of his finger round the rim of his glass.
‘Like you, Sinclair, I was in gaol.’
‘A P.O.W.?’ Jock gave a little snigger. ‘That’s not quite the same thing.’
‘I think I would have preferred Barlinnie gaol.’
THREE
But it was after Barrow had left them that the drinking really began. All the tunics were loose again. Jock sat on the leather guard in front of the log fire and the smoke from his cigarette crawled up his cheek, over his flat blue eyes. The junior subaltern caught his attention again.
‘Mackinnon? D’you know the words of the Lord’s Prayer?’
‘Yes, Colonel.’
‘You do?’ Jock’s eyes were very bloodshot now. It showed when he rolled them. ‘Then you’re not so bloody ignorant as I thought you were.’ He stared at the boy, who looked very pale and nervous. It was no secret that he had already retired once that evening to be sick.
‘Poor wee laddie. Can you smoke yet?’
‘I think so.’
‘Poor laddie … Och.’ Jock was restless. He moved now to an armchair and he dropped into it. ‘Och, to hell with all this,’ he said impatiently. ‘Och, to hell with all this.’ Major Charlie Scott was lying full length on the settee beside Jock’s chair and Jock now leaned over towards him.
‘Charlie boy, are you dead yet?’
‘Cold. As cold as Flora Macdonald.’
‘I can tell you, chum, there’s some is colder than her.’
Charlie made no reply further than to let his heavy eyelids drop again and Jock turned to the group still hanging around the ante-room. His voice was a sergeant’s again.
‘Get away with you, you bairns and cheeldron; away to your holes and your chariots. You’ve drunk more than you or I can afford and you’re the worst lot of bastards I’ve ever known. And Jimmy Cairns is the worst of the lot of you.’
‘I’m too tired,’ Cairns said. ‘I’m too tired even to insult you.’
‘Just try and I’ll have you drummed out of the Battalion.’ Jock’s energy was unlimited.
‘I’m whacked.’
‘Good night, Jimmy lad.’
‘Aye, Jock.’
The Corporal brought a full bottle and the others went to bed, leaving Charlie Scott on the couch, stretched out like a walrus on his back, and Jock sitting in his chair with his knees apart and his hands clasping the arms. They sat there, quiet for a long time. It was Charlie who spoke at last.
‘You know, Jock; I once had a woman under water.’
Jock hardly seemed to be listening. ‘Aye, man? Was it salt or fresh?’
Charlie sat up. He looked rather dazed.
‘Flesh,’ he said. ‘All flesh.’ But Jock did not smile.
‘Charlie, have I been such a bad colonel; have I, man?’
Charlie took a long time to reply. He seemed to have difficulty in finding the right words.
‘Never known a better,’ he said with a sharp shake of his head.
‘Och, man. Stop your fibbing. I asked a civil question.’
‘Honest to God, old boy. In the war …’
Jock shook his head and he said, ‘“Old boy, old boy, old boy.”’
‘You asked me and I tell you. For God’s sake, chum …’
‘D’you really think that, Charlie?’
Charlie seemed a little irritated by his questions. He touched his moustache. ‘Sure, sure.’ He gave an apostrophied nod and a little belch. Then he lay down again and there was another pause. Jock drew a circle on the leather arm of the
