slaughter enraged hordes of savages who believed that millet and castor-oil fetishes turned bullets to air. Stirring up hatred was no way to govern. Boundaries were lines on a map and tribal areas overlapped. The British Luo territories might be next to go. No doubt the white man had to take up his burden, as Kipling was so fond of telling the Americans they had to do, but did it really have to be on a Sunday morning, thus depriving a man of his Sunday lunch with the family? These days Robert looked back almost wistfully at his days in Fisheries: nothing was ever urgent about the mating habits of trout: salmon with machetes lined no river banks.
The train failed to stop at Dilberne Halt – the initial agreement with the Railway Company that any passing train must stop there when requested was now some sixty years old and these days was often honoured only in the breach. The Company had offered to buy the rights back. The Earl and Countess were willing enough – it was a bore forever having to call up the Portsmouth stationmaster when one wanted a train, and there were other stations not far away – but Arthur was determined that his father should hold on to the rights. Easy access to the Jehu works was essential, and was not the village itself growing to meet the needs of the new plant? Rather, Dilberne should become a regular stop on the Portsmouth to Waterloo line. So if the railway management failed to remember that the train had been asked to stop, and it simply steamed on through, that was not surprising. Reginald had to drive on to Petersfield, and his Lordship had to catch the next train. He was just in time for the four o’clock appointment, only to discover Lansdowne and Sunny had been called away to meet with the King and the meeting had been cancelled.
Ponsonby, who had broken the news, took Robert along to the bar and bought him a whisky.
‘I hope the King has something of importance to say,’ said Robert, ‘other than whether the shooting at Bowood or Blenheim will be better this year.’
‘The King is much exercised about Lansdowne’s wisdom in backing France rather than Germany in the Moroccan matter,’ said Ponsonby, a little stiffly. ‘He has received a letter from his nephew the Kaiser and sees trouble ahead.’
‘And so the fortunes of our East African protectorate fade into insignificance,’ said Robert.
‘Up to a point, yes,’ said Ponsonby. ‘Britain can cope with any number of little wars. A big war between the major powers is surely a different matter. The King is right to be concerned. He is wise when it comes to matters of war and peace: he sees the wider picture, and is as good a diplomat as he is a shot.’
Robert thought that was not saying much. He had seen too many sportsmen put their birds the King’s way, and the King simply not notice, preferring to believe the myth of his own making, that he was the keenest marksman in the land. He was good with a gun and a stag, fairly good with a gun and a sluggish pheasant, not very good with a gun and a lively partridge, and with a mouthful of a woodcock to destroy, downright bad, let the beaters do what they could.
‘Little wars lead to greater wars,’ Robert said. ‘And what goes on in East Africa should not be a matter of indifference to His Majesty.
‘You are very censorious all of a sudden, Dilberne,’ observed Ponsonby and smiled as he spoke. Well, thought Robert, times were changing. He was a charming fellow and it was possible to overlook what once would have seemed impertinence. No ‘your Lordship’, no ‘my Lord’, just ‘Dilberne’, fellow to fellow.
‘No doubt if one his sisters had married some naked African war lord rather than the Kaiser,’ Ponsonby went on, ‘he would be interested enough. His Majesty’s skill in diplomacy, I realized long ago, comes from family. He is big brother to the nations: he understands the foibles of rulers and the patterns of jealousy between them. He is dealing with his
The train failed to stop at Dilberne Halt – the initial agreement with the Railway Company that any passing train must stop there when requested was now some sixty years old and these days was often honoured only in the breach. The Company had offered to buy the rights back. The Earl and Countess were willing enough – it was a bore forever having to call up the Portsmouth stationmaster when one wanted a train, and there were other stations not far away – but Arthur was determined that his father should hold on to the rights. Easy access to the Jehu works was essential, and was not the village itself growing to meet the needs of the new plant? Rather, Dilberne should become a regular stop on the Portsmouth to Waterloo line. So if the railway management failed to remember that the train had been asked to stop, and it simply steamed on through, that was not surprising. Reginald had to drive on to Petersfield, and his Lordship had to catch the next train. He was just in time for the four o’clock appointment, only to discover Lansdowne and Sunny had been called away to meet with the King and the meeting had been cancelled.
Ponsonby, who had broken the news, took Robert along to the bar and bought him a whisky.
‘I hope the King has something of importance to say,’ said Robert, ‘other than whether the shooting at Bowood or Blenheim will be better this year.’
‘The King is much exercised about Lansdowne’s wisdom in backing France rather than Germany in the Moroccan matter,’ said Ponsonby, a little stiffly. ‘He has received a letter from his nephew the Kaiser and sees trouble ahead.’
‘And so the fortunes of our East African protectorate fade into insignificance,’ said Robert.
‘Up to a point, yes,’ said Ponsonby. ‘Britain can cope with any number of little wars. A big war between the major powers is surely a different matter. The King is right to be concerned. He is wise when it comes to matters of war and peace: he sees the wider picture, and is as good a diplomat as he is a shot.’
Robert thought that was not saying much. He had seen too many sportsmen put their birds the King’s way, and the King simply not notice, preferring to believe the myth of his own making, that he was the keenest marksman in the land. He was good with a gun and a stag, fairly good with a gun and a sluggish pheasant, not very good with a gun and a lively partridge, and with a mouthful of a woodcock to destroy, downright bad, let the beaters do what they could.
‘Little wars lead to greater wars,’ Robert said. ‘And what goes on in East Africa should not be a matter of indifference to His Majesty.
‘You are very censorious all of a sudden, Dilberne,’ observed Ponsonby and smiled as he spoke. Well, thought Robert, times were changing. He was a charming fellow and it was possible to overlook what once would have seemed impertinence. No ‘your Lordship’, no ‘my Lord’, just ‘Dilberne’, fellow to fellow.
‘No doubt if one his sisters had married some naked African war lord rather than the Kaiser,’ Ponsonby went on, ‘he would be interested enough. His Majesty’s skill in diplomacy, I realized long ago, comes from family. He is big brother to the nations: he understands the foibles of rulers and the patterns of jealousy between them. He is dealing with his