prospect of
something to eat, a subject much on the men’s
minds, scarcely
less on my own. I was very ready for a meal, breakfast
soon after 5 a.m. by now a long way off.
For some reason, probably
because it was becoming hard to obtain, I carried no chocolate in my haversack.
Gwatkin was waiting for us when
we arrived. From his appearance it was clear he had been hauled pretty roughly
over the coals by the Commanding Officer for failure to bring up the Company in
time earlier that
day. His face was white.
‘You are to
take your platoon out at once on patrol,’ he said.
‘But they’ve
had no dinner.’
‘The men just
have time for a mouthful, if they’re quick. You can’t. I’ve got to go over the
map with you. You are to make a recce, then act as a Standing Patrol. It can’t
be helped that you haven’t eaten yourself.’
He gave the
impression of rather enjoying this opportunity for working off his feelings.
There seemed no necessity to underline the fact that I was to starve until
further notice. Whatever the Commanding Officer had said had certainly not
improved Gwatkin’s state of mind. He was thoroughly upset. His hand shook when
he pointed his pencil at names on the map. He was in a vile temper.
‘You will take
your men up to this point,’ he said. ‘There you will establish an HQ. Here is
the canal. At this map reference the Pioneers have thrown a rope bridge across.
You will personally cross by the rope bridge and make a recce of the far bank
from here to here. Then return to your platoon and carry out the duties of a
Standing Patrol as laid down in Infantry
Training, having reported the map reference of
your HQ by runner to me at this point here. In due course I shall come and
inspect the position and receive your report. All right?’
‘Yes.’
He handed over
some map references.
‘Any questions?’
‘None.’
Gwatkin strode
off. I returned to my platoon, far from pleased. The fact that missing a meal or
two in the army must be regarded – certainly by an officer – as all in the day’s
work, makes these occasions no more acceptable. Sergeant Pendry was falling in
the men when I returned to the area of the wood that had been allotted to the
Platoon. They were grumbling at the hurried nature of dinner, complaining the
stew had ‘tasted’ from being kept in the new containers. The only bright spot
was that we were to be transported by truck some of the distance towards the
place where we were to undertake these duties. Thirty men take an age to get
on, or off, a vehicle of any kind. Jones, D., slipped while climbing up over
the wheel, dropping the anti-tank rifle – that inordinately heavy, already
obsolete weapon – on the foot of Williams, W. H., the platoon runner, putting
him temporarily out of action. Sayce now began a long story about feeling
faint, perhaps as a result of eating the stew, and what the MO had said about
some disease he, Sayce, was suffering from. These troubles were unwillingly
presented to me through the sceptical medium of Corporal Gwylt. I was in no
mood for pity. If the meal had made Sayce feel queasy, that was better than
having no meal at all. Such was my answer. All these things obstructed progress
for about ten minutes. I feared Gwatkin might return to find reasonable cause
for complaint in this delay, but Gwatkin had disappeared, bent on making life
uncomfortable for someone else, or perhaps anxious only to find a quiet place
where he could himself mope for a short period, while recovering his own
morale. Sergeant Pendry was still showing less than his usual vigour in keeping
things on the move. There could be no doubt Breeze had been right about Pendry,
I thought, unless
he turned out to be merely unwell, sickening for
some illness,
rather than suffering from a hangover. He dragged his
feet when he walked, hardly able to shout out a command.
I took him aside as the last man settled into the
truck.
‘Are you
feeling all right, Sergeant?’
He looked
something to eat, a subject much on the men’s
minds, scarcely
less on my own. I was very ready for a meal, breakfast
soon after 5 a.m. by now a long way off.
For some reason, probably
because it was becoming hard to obtain, I carried no chocolate in my haversack.
Gwatkin was waiting for us when
we arrived. From his appearance it was clear he had been hauled pretty roughly
over the coals by the Commanding Officer for failure to bring up the Company in
time earlier that
day. His face was white.
‘You are to
take your platoon out at once on patrol,’ he said.
‘But they’ve
had no dinner.’
‘The men just
have time for a mouthful, if they’re quick. You can’t. I’ve got to go over the
map with you. You are to make a recce, then act as a Standing Patrol. It can’t
be helped that you haven’t eaten yourself.’
He gave the
impression of rather enjoying this opportunity for working off his feelings.
There seemed no necessity to underline the fact that I was to starve until
further notice. Whatever the Commanding Officer had said had certainly not
improved Gwatkin’s state of mind. He was thoroughly upset. His hand shook when
he pointed his pencil at names on the map. He was in a vile temper.
‘You will take
your men up to this point,’ he said. ‘There you will establish an HQ. Here is
the canal. At this map reference the Pioneers have thrown a rope bridge across.
You will personally cross by the rope bridge and make a recce of the far bank
from here to here. Then return to your platoon and carry out the duties of a
Standing Patrol as laid down in Infantry
Training, having reported the map reference of
your HQ by runner to me at this point here. In due course I shall come and
inspect the position and receive your report. All right?’
‘Yes.’
He handed over
some map references.
‘Any questions?’
‘None.’
Gwatkin strode
off. I returned to my platoon, far from pleased. The fact that missing a meal or
two in the army must be regarded – certainly by an officer – as all in the day’s
work, makes these occasions no more acceptable. Sergeant Pendry was falling in
the men when I returned to the area of the wood that had been allotted to the
Platoon. They were grumbling at the hurried nature of dinner, complaining the
stew had ‘tasted’ from being kept in the new containers. The only bright spot
was that we were to be transported by truck some of the distance towards the
place where we were to undertake these duties. Thirty men take an age to get
on, or off, a vehicle of any kind. Jones, D., slipped while climbing up over
the wheel, dropping the anti-tank rifle – that inordinately heavy, already
obsolete weapon – on the foot of Williams, W. H., the platoon runner, putting
him temporarily out of action. Sayce now began a long story about feeling
faint, perhaps as a result of eating the stew, and what the MO had said about
some disease he, Sayce, was suffering from. These troubles were unwillingly
presented to me through the sceptical medium of Corporal Gwylt. I was in no
mood for pity. If the meal had made Sayce feel queasy, that was better than
having no meal at all. Such was my answer. All these things obstructed progress
for about ten minutes. I feared Gwatkin might return to find reasonable cause
for complaint in this delay, but Gwatkin had disappeared, bent on making life
uncomfortable for someone else, or perhaps anxious only to find a quiet place
where he could himself mope for a short period, while recovering his own
morale. Sergeant Pendry was still showing less than his usual vigour in keeping
things on the move. There could be no doubt Breeze had been right about Pendry,
I thought, unless
he turned out to be merely unwell, sickening for
some illness,
rather than suffering from a hangover. He dragged his
feet when he walked, hardly able to shout out a command.
I took him aside as the last man settled into the
truck.
‘Are you
feeling all right, Sergeant?’
He looked
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