Lord Dismiss Us (15 page)

There had been great jostling and excitement the previous evening when Jimmy Rich had pinned the list of the selected team on the Notice Board in the New Buildings corridor; reducing noticeably as the unselected slipped quietly away, hiding their disappointment. Carleton had already been shown it. The sight of the name ‘Allen’ at the bottom had made his heart leap with excitement and fear.

Now they were assembled in white, with blue blazers and caps, on the drive near the Music Building; while Lucretia Crabtree, who did not go to school on Saturdays, leant against a distant tree, observing them. It was a blustery day, but there was no sign of rain. Jimmy Rich was talking away in the middle of the group. Carleton stood on the outskirts. He was glad to see that Allen had the company of a boy of the same age, Hamilton Minor, a comical little flirt, who was Twelfth Man. These two, as the most junior, had been deputised to carry the huge bag, containing all their bats and pads, and they were just starting down the drive when Jimmy Rich said: ‘Hey, steady on there! Wait a minute, lads. Nancy’s coming.’

‘Good-oh!’ someone said with enthusiasm, and Rich looked delighted.

‘She’s probably bringing Eric Ashley,’ he said.

‘
What?
’

‘We thought it would cheer him up,’ said Rich. ‘You can grow mouldy in this old place, eh lads?’

‘You sure can!’

They appreciated this. They were all silly with excitement about getting out of confinement. At the same time, they couldn’t see any earthly connection between Jimmy and Nancy and Eric Ashley, a man so remote that nobody had even been able to think of a nickname for him. ‘Jimmy Boy’ was about all they had for Rich; but he was more like one of them.

‘But don’t take that as an excuse for breaking the rules, boys, or I’ll have the hide off you. We’ll be coming away straight on the
7
.
50
. There’ll be no messing around the town. Merryman . . . Bewick . . . I have my eye on you, boy!’

‘Why us, Sir?’

‘Ah, here’s Herself.’

Rich went forward, grinning. He was wearing his flaming sports coat. He kissed her and said, ‘So she persuaded you, Eric?’

‘She did, indeed. To my great surprise.’

‘She’d persuade the divil out of hell, this one.’

‘Ah, go on with you,’ said Nancy.

‘Lead on there, lads! We haven’t all day. Come on, come on, come on!’

Chanting ‘Come on, come on, come on,’ they set off down the hill, following Allen and Hamilton Minor and the Bag.

Nancy walked between the men and took their arms. Ashley was touched. He would have expected it to be irritating. He could not think why he was liked, and he was confused.

Only a few moments ago she had appeared in his room, saying that they knew he had no more Classes that morning; she had noticed he had been looking ‘a bit seedy’; the change would help; she knew nothing about cricket, and he would keep her company. ‘So come on, Eric, do!’

‘Very well. But it’s madness.’

‘Nonsense.’

Now she walked brightly between them, saying: ‘God, I can’t tell you chaps what it’s like to get away from that old dispensary.’

They were departing down the superior of the two drives. The other one went away in the opposite direction, near the lake. This one prided itself on an erratic concrete surface laid down by the boys themselves under the vigorous supervision of The Cod. A muddy lane, off to the left, led to three pink bungalows, set rather peculiarly in a field, for the benefit of married members of the Staff. Dr Kingsly, the Precentor, and his wife occupied one of them; their children having long since departed. There were only two other candidates, and they both had, by preference, small houses in Marston. So two of the bungalows were let to outsiders. Jimmy Rich and Nancy had their eye on one of them. Away beyond, among trees, was a grey gloomy building, which Matron could not look at without foreboding: the sanatorium, or san. At any moment, epidemics could alter her existence, and create extreme responsibility. The last one had been measles. On the other side of the drive there was a grunting of pigs from the grey stucco farm buildings. Cows lay in the field beyond.

Finally, they passed the dark and silent Gate Lodge, where old Gregory lived with his wife and a semi-moronic son of fifty. Then they were out. In Buckinghamshire. Where a different life had been going on all this time. Persons of parental age sped by in fast cars on the main road, headed for who knew what or where. The junior company, on the grass border, had to walk most of the way in Indian file; until they reached the wide redbrick main street of Marston. Most elegant, but also empty and oddly depressing, the street was enlivened half-way along by the still older whitewash and black beams of the Crown and Anchor Hotel. Merryman called it ‘The Pedant’s Pumphouse’, and there were obscenities and shouts of laughter, drawing from Jimmy Rich a quiet – ‘Now then, lads, now then.’ Bewick made a humorous attempt to slip into a tobacconist’s, and was rewarded with a – ‘Watch it boy, watch it.’

Their protector’s responsibility was more seriously tested at the deserted station. They had to get across to the other side, and there was a covered bridge, affording a laborious climb upstairs and down again. But there was an easier way: at one point wooden planks had been set between the lines, for the convenience of railway workers. It was tempting, and dangerous, because the trains from one direction came unexpectedly round a tree-lined bend in the fields. ‘The Bag’s awfully heavy, Sir,’ said Hamilton Minor. ‘Can we just nip across here?’ ‘Certainly not, boy! Up the stairs with you.’

Carleton was glad it wasn’t Allen who had made such a stupid request. He had been walking in silence beside Pryde, who had been looking moody and lovelorn since the arrival of Matron. He was Cricket Captain, though otherwise Carleton’s inferior. This was not unusual: Steele, the Senior Prefect, was also on the team. Carleton was a more likely candidate than Steele, a rather wild hitter, but ever since his rejection of the highest office, it had been accepted that he wanted, in no sense, to be a leader of men. He was, in fact, Captain of Tennis, but that only involved six people, and matches only took place very occasionally when Cricket permitted.

They stood on the windy platform.

‘Now then, lads, we can bring this off today. We’ve beaten them before. I hear they’ve a good team, but so have we. Carleton and Southwell, you’ll be opening as usual, take it easy, don’t rush it, play yourselves in, there’s plenty of time. Hawke, bowl like you did on Wednesday, pitch ’em up, don’t mind the full tosses, you’ll find your length. Berry, vary it, boy, don’t overdo that leg break. Sinnott, for God’s sake keep that left elbow up. Merryman, when we field,
try
to stay awake, boy. Let’s start the season off with a win, lads!’

‘We’ll do our best, Jimmy,’ said Pryde, solemnly.

The train was half empty. Carleton waited to see which compartment Allen would be in. With mild dismay he saw Sinnott going in there too. But even so he chose another, where he pretended to be part of the boisterous company. It was a poor pretence, but they were scarcely aware of him. He had been tempted to join the grown-ups, but they seemed an oddly complete trio, and he didn’t want to be faced with Ashley’s badinage in front of the other two.

The three adults felt like children out on a spree. Jimmy Rich produced cigarettes. To such a degree were they part of the community, that both men were aware that they were doing something forbidden to the other two compartments; and, to make this sensation complete, two boys, exploring along the corridor, seemed to glance at them with envy as they went past. Or were they on the way to do the same in the lavatory?

‘This is fun. I love trains,’ said Nancy.

‘So do I,’ said Ashley.

‘I’m only used to them with the old teams of men and boys,’ said Jimmy Rich. ‘This is much better.’

She sat opposite by the window, with Rich beside her. He had his arm around her. Fresh and homely, and freckled, she was, in a simple light-brown tweed dress. How did one begin to feel desire for such a person? Ashley looked on them as if they were the victims of an inexplicable aberration, and with no envy at all. He felt far older, and more secure.

The high wind was driving clouds across the flat fields of England. He wondered what he was doing here. But Temborough boasted an interesting folly by Kent which he had never seen. . . .

‘Listen, did you notice that girl standing there as we were coming out?’ said Nancy.

‘Lucretia?’ he said. ‘It’s an extraordinary and alarming phenomenon.’

‘It’s more than that. I’m quite certain that child is following us around, Jimmy. I saw her go behind a gorse bush when we were up the hill the other evening.’

‘Silly kid. Why didn’t you say? I’d have had her out.’

‘Silly!’

‘Yes,’ Ashley said, ‘I must agree there. I’m afraid Lucretia is a lot of things, but not silly.’

‘You’ll say I’m mad, Jimmy, but I don’t think she’s doing it on her own account.’

‘Go on. Tell me. Is it the F.B.I.?’

‘No, don’t be stupid. Her mother!’

Rich laughed so wholeheartedly, that Ashley couldn’t help smiling, even though he remembered what Lucretia had said to him.

‘Do you know that the child demon actually told me that she was under her mother’s orders in these matters?’

‘There!’ said Nancy. ‘You’re such a blooming innocent, Jimmy.’

‘Oh, go on! Why, in the name of God?’

‘It’s hard to tell you.’

‘Oh, for the Lord’s sake. What’s come over you, woman?’

‘Tell us,’ said Ashley.

‘She’s jealous. Mrs Crabtree has thrown four or five remarks at me. Nothing definite. But she makes her point all right, the old so-and-so. The other evening I was doing the blessed laundry – I know you people think I don’t do anything but hand out medicines, but I’m responsible for all the linen and laundry in this place. . . .’

‘Yes, yes, we know that, love.’

‘Well, she was hanging around, pretending to help. And this maid, Philomena, you know the one, she’s about ten feet high, was bringing in piles of sheets, and dropping them here and there like an idiot. Anyhow, when she’d gone, Mrs Crabtree says . . . you know, with the old head going like this. . . . “I’m afraid, Matron, that the much vaunted heart’s affections are responsible for that grotesque spectacle.” “How do you mean?” I asked. “Miss Philomena Maguire,” she said, “is enamoured of our Chaplain”.’

Jimmy Rich roared, with his head back.

Ashley suddenly laughed too.

‘Shut up! Shut up the two of you, this isn’t funny.’

Rich had a fresh attack.

‘That’s not the point! It’s what she said next. She said, “It may be perfectly understandable. . . .
”
’

‘Oh Christ no!’

‘Shut up, Jimmy. “But it can’t be forgiven . . .” or something like that . . . “in women who have reached a certain age that they should permit themselves such sentiments. It is of no significance with this creature. But with others it matters a great deal. An example must be set. You understand me?” “No,” I said. “I don’t think I do. I can see it’s ridiculous, but, as for age, Philomena must be in her thirties.” “That is what I mean,” she said.’

‘I don’t get it,’ said Jimmy Rich.

‘Oh come on, she meant
m
e
!’

‘The old bitch!’

‘Yes, and how old was
she
when she married, I’d like to know! I tell you she’s wildly jealous for some reason, and she’s dangerous.’

They were evidently in Oxfordshire: the train had stopped at Banbury station. Youths with long curls, dressed in black leather, were noisily climbing on board. Ashley reflected how innocent and vulnerable even the toughest of their white-clad protégés must appear by comparison. Delicate souls, straight from the shower-room. Darlings away from home.

‘It might help if she knew your intentions,’ said Ashley, as the train moved out. ‘Which I must admit I’m rather curious about myself. Are you intending to be spliced?’

They grinned at each other.

‘We’re going to announce it at the end of term,’ she said.

‘Congratulations. Delighted to hear it. Don’t you think you should
do it now? She might call off her bloodhound, for one thing.’

‘Nancy doesn’t want cracks from the lads all term. And there’s the matter of getting them out of one of the bungalows – which has to be approached with tact and caution, if you know what I mean. Besides, we thought we’d have a bit of gas over it at the end of term. A bit of a do.’

‘You’ll invite me, I hope.’

‘Oh, of course, a party goer like you, Eric!’

‘Don’t you make fun of Eric, now.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of it. What about yourself? You old mystery man. I bet you’ve got some little piece hidden away from us?’

‘No. No.’

‘He has plenty of time,’ said Nancy quickly. ‘Not like us old fogeys. That right, Eric?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, thank you very much for that!’ said Rich. ‘Christ, from all this talk you’d think we were a hundred.’

Really, their lives were as remote as those of the Banbury youths.

‘Are we nearly there, Jimmy?’

‘Another half hour.’

‘Mind you, I may like trains, but I’m not going to be doing this every Away Match. I hate your old cricket. If you weren’t the blooming Games Master we’d have the half-holidays off together.’

‘You’ve made that point before, love. It can’t be helped. Cheer up.’

There was some memory – also from miles away.

His eyes were on the open fields, but he was not seeing them. The world passed quickly by, demanding no attention. It came to him suddenly, for the first time, that his four years at Cambridge had been like this. Leaving nothing. A scholarly vacuum. Somehow, he had immediately adopted the role traditionally associated with his elders: as an undergraduate he had looked like a don; indeed, he had felt like one. And on top of his achievements this had perhaps been a part cause of his optimism – now so harshly disappointed. But in all that time absolutely nothing could be said to have occurred. Except work. The absorption, the excitement, of learning. His passion! What had happened to it? Did one have to be challenged? Encouraged? Now then, lads. . . .

He had returned here with some apprehension; which had resolved itself almost at once into a faint, and sad, recollection of childhood.

But was it childhood?

The extraordinary fact was that – now that he made a calculation – it was only six years ago.

Yes, that was it! Six years ago he himself had said to another child . . . to someone else . . . ‘If you didn’t play Games we’d have the half-holidays off together.’