of the earth. It left Josh faintly depressed and when his depression began to touch the rest of the party, Reeves dragged them all out to a night club.
‘Bit of slumming,’ he said. ‘Good for the soul.’
The night club was a sleazy place full of smoke and was peopled by transvestites.
‘The bloody place’s nothing but pansies,’ Reeves observed loudly.
They were entertained by a girl wearing long black stockings with black suspenders across her fat white thighs and a comedian whose stock-in-trade was his femininity.
‘There’s something wrong with this bloody country,’ Reeves said wonderingly as they left. ‘And I think they’re going to give us a lot of trouble before we’re finished.’
How much, they soon knew.
Ailsa was sitting up in bed doing her nails with the breakfast tray beside her when a knock came on the door.
‘It’s Toby,’ a voice called. ‘Are you two decent or are you up to something you shouldn’t be up to?’
He seemed excited and when he produced the newspaper they saw why.
‘Hitler’s shot everybody in sight,’ he said. ‘Even his pals. He’s got no opposition to him anywhere now. If President Hindenburg pops off – and the poor old bugger’s eighty-seven – he’ll be running the show. In my book, that seems to mean the war’s just a bit nearer than it was yesterday.’
Just how much nearer became obvious even as they stepped off the boat train in London. The newspaper sellers were shouting that Hindenburg was dead and that Hitler had taken the office of President as well as that of Chancellor, with the title of Führer. Sure of his position now, he had already started to make it stronger by terrorism, and was already flouting treaties and making no secret of his intention to restore Germany to her original power.
‘Well, at least,’ Leduc said, ‘if that doesn’t wake up those idiots at Westminster, nothing will.’
To Toby Reeves’ surprise, Chloe decided to marry someone quite unexpected – a Scottish landowner with a castle in Perthshire.
The wedding was held at Braxby and, among a Highland contingent in kilts, Josh and Toby Reeves appeared in full-dress uniform of green and gold, schapskas, plumes and all, Reeves still wearing a slightly hurt, bewildered look.
For two days Braxby seemed full of Goffs who had not been seen for years because they had ‘gone foreign’ by disappearing to outlandish places such as Sussex, Norfolk and Devon.
‘Granny’s house’s all yours, brother dear,’ Chloe whispered as she kissed Josh goodbye. ‘I’m going in for motherhood and I’ve got a better house. With turrets.’
When Josh returned to barracks, the first movements towards mechanising the regiment began to take place. There were still horsed regiments in the British army and still a distinct objection among those in power to converting them to tanks. In Parliament, ex-cavalry officers, their faces red with rage, were shouting ‘No tinkering with the cavalry!’ and even as Hitler announced enormous increases in the German army, British army estimates were showing that the amount of forage for horses had increased by four hundred per cent while the increase for motor fuel had increased only by a hundred per cent.
The controversy raged on. As one officer claimed that tanks could be knocked out at will and that the type of war envisaged by Liddell Hart and Fuller was past, another argued that the very people who claimed to love horses were the very ones who should least regret their departure from the battlefield.
Leduc grew angry at the continued delay. ‘All this about hunting making officers quick-witted is sheer bloody rubbish,’ he claimed. ‘It requires much quicker wits to drive a motor car through London. For God’s sake, we should be ready for the next war, not the last one, and responsibility, like the Holy Ghost, should be everywhere.’
To Josh horsed cavalry seemed to be as dead as the dodo because the aeroplane and the tank
‘Bit of slumming,’ he said. ‘Good for the soul.’
The night club was a sleazy place full of smoke and was peopled by transvestites.
‘The bloody place’s nothing but pansies,’ Reeves observed loudly.
They were entertained by a girl wearing long black stockings with black suspenders across her fat white thighs and a comedian whose stock-in-trade was his femininity.
‘There’s something wrong with this bloody country,’ Reeves said wonderingly as they left. ‘And I think they’re going to give us a lot of trouble before we’re finished.’
How much, they soon knew.
Ailsa was sitting up in bed doing her nails with the breakfast tray beside her when a knock came on the door.
‘It’s Toby,’ a voice called. ‘Are you two decent or are you up to something you shouldn’t be up to?’
He seemed excited and when he produced the newspaper they saw why.
‘Hitler’s shot everybody in sight,’ he said. ‘Even his pals. He’s got no opposition to him anywhere now. If President Hindenburg pops off – and the poor old bugger’s eighty-seven – he’ll be running the show. In my book, that seems to mean the war’s just a bit nearer than it was yesterday.’
Just how much nearer became obvious even as they stepped off the boat train in London. The newspaper sellers were shouting that Hindenburg was dead and that Hitler had taken the office of President as well as that of Chancellor, with the title of Führer. Sure of his position now, he had already started to make it stronger by terrorism, and was already flouting treaties and making no secret of his intention to restore Germany to her original power.
‘Well, at least,’ Leduc said, ‘if that doesn’t wake up those idiots at Westminster, nothing will.’
To Toby Reeves’ surprise, Chloe decided to marry someone quite unexpected – a Scottish landowner with a castle in Perthshire.
The wedding was held at Braxby and, among a Highland contingent in kilts, Josh and Toby Reeves appeared in full-dress uniform of green and gold, schapskas, plumes and all, Reeves still wearing a slightly hurt, bewildered look.
For two days Braxby seemed full of Goffs who had not been seen for years because they had ‘gone foreign’ by disappearing to outlandish places such as Sussex, Norfolk and Devon.
‘Granny’s house’s all yours, brother dear,’ Chloe whispered as she kissed Josh goodbye. ‘I’m going in for motherhood and I’ve got a better house. With turrets.’
When Josh returned to barracks, the first movements towards mechanising the regiment began to take place. There were still horsed regiments in the British army and still a distinct objection among those in power to converting them to tanks. In Parliament, ex-cavalry officers, their faces red with rage, were shouting ‘No tinkering with the cavalry!’ and even as Hitler announced enormous increases in the German army, British army estimates were showing that the amount of forage for horses had increased by four hundred per cent while the increase for motor fuel had increased only by a hundred per cent.
The controversy raged on. As one officer claimed that tanks could be knocked out at will and that the type of war envisaged by Liddell Hart and Fuller was past, another argued that the very people who claimed to love horses were the very ones who should least regret their departure from the battlefield.
Leduc grew angry at the continued delay. ‘All this about hunting making officers quick-witted is sheer bloody rubbish,’ he claimed. ‘It requires much quicker wits to drive a motor car through London. For God’s sake, we should be ready for the next war, not the last one, and responsibility, like the Holy Ghost, should be everywhere.’
To Josh horsed cavalry seemed to be as dead as the dodo because the aeroplane and the tank
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