Parade's End (11 page)

Although Tietjens hated golf as he hated any occupation that was of a competitive nature, he could engross himself in the mathematics of trajectories when he accompanied Macmaster in one of his expeditions for practice. He accompanied Macmaster because he liked there to be one pursuit at which his friend undisputably excelled himself, for it was a bore always browbeating the
fellow.
But he stipulated that they should visit three different and, if possible, unknown courses every weekend when they golfed. He interested himself then in the way the courses were laid out, acquiring thus an extraordinary connoisseurship in golf architecture, and he made abstruse calculations as to the flight of balls off sloped club-faces, as to the foot-poundals of energy exercised by one muscle or the other, and as to theories of spin. As often as not he palmed Macmaster off as a fair, average player on some other unfortunate fair, average stranger. Then he passed the afternoon in the club-house studying the pedigrees and forms of racehorses, for every clubhouse contained a copy of Ruff’s guide. In the spring he would hunt for and examine the nests of soft-billed birds, for he was interested in the domestic affairs of the cuckoo, though he hated natural history and field botany.

On this occasion he had just examined some notes of other mashie shots, had put the notebook back in his pocket, and had addressed his ball with a niblick that had an unusually roughened face and a head like a hatchet. Meticulously, when he had taken his grip he removed his little and third fingers from the leather of the shaft. He was thanking heaven that Sandbach seemed to be accounted for for ten minutes at least, for Sandbach was miserly over lost balls and, very slowly, he was raising his mashie to half cock for a sighting shot.

He was aware that someone, breathing a little heavily from small lungs, was standing close to him and watching him: he could indeed, beneath his cap-rim, perceive the tips of a pair of boy’s white sand-shoes. It in no way perturbed him to be watched since he was avid of no personal glory when making his shots. A voice said:

‘I say …’ He continued to look at his ball.

‘Sorry to spoil your shot,’ the voice said. ‘But …’

Tietjens dropped his club altogether and straightened his back. A fair young woman with a fixed scowl was looking at him intently. She had a short skirt and was panting a little.

‘I say,’ she said, ‘go and see they don’t hurt Gertie. I’ve lost her …’ She pointed back to the sandhills. ‘There looked to be some beasts among them.’

She seemed a perfectly negligible girl except for the frown: her eyes blue, her hair no doubt fair under a white
canvas
hat. She had a striped cotton blouse, but her fawn tweed skirt was well hung.

Tietjens said:

‘You’ve been demonstrating.’

She said:

‘Of course we have, and of course you object on principle. But you won’t let a girl be man-handled. Don’t wait to tell me, I know it… .’

Noises existed. Sandbach, from beyond the low garden wall fifty yards away, was yelping, just like a dog: ‘Hi! Hi! Hi! Hi!’ and gesticulating. His little caddy, entangled in his golf-bag, was trying to scramble over the wall. On top of a high sandhill stood the policeman: he waved his arms like a windmill and shouted. Beside him and behind, slowly rising, were the heads of the General, Macmaster and their two boys. Further along, in completion, were appearing the figures of Mr. Waterhouse, his two companions and
their
three boys. The Minister was waving his driver and shouting. They all shouted.

‘A regular rat-hunt,’ the girl said; she was counting. ‘Eleven and two more caddies!’ She exhibited satisfaction. ‘I headed them all off except two beasts. They couldn’t run. But neither can Gertie… .’

She said urgently:

‘Come along! You aren’t going to leave Gertie to those beasts! They’re drunk.’

Tietjens said:

‘Cut away then. I’ll look after Gertie.’ He picked up his bag.

‘No, I’ll come with you,’ the girl said.

Tietjens answered: ‘Oh, you don’t want to go to gaol. Clear out!’

She said:

‘Nonsense. I’ve put up with worse than that. Nine months as a slavey… . Come
along
!’

Tietjens started to run – rather like a rhinoceros seeing purple. He had been violently spurred, for he had been pierced by a shrill, faint scream. The girl ran beside him.

‘You … can … run!’ she panted, ‘put on a spurt.’

Screams protesting against physical violence were at that date rare things in England. Tietjens had never heard the like. It upset him frightfully, though he was aware only of an expanse of open country. The policeman,
whose
buttons made him noteworthy, was descending his conical sandhill, diagonally, with caution. There is something grotesque about a town policeman, silvered helmet and all, in the open country. It was so clear and still in the air; Tietjens felt as if he were in a light museum looking at specimens.

A little young woman, engrossed, like a hunted rat, came round the corner of a green mound. ‘This is an assaulted female!’ the mind of Tietjens said to him. She had a black skirt covered with sand, for she had just rolled down the sandhill; she had a striped grey and black silk blouse, one shoulder torn completely off, so that a white camisole showed. Over the shoulder of the sandhill came the two city men, flushed with triumph and panting; their red knitted waistcoats moved like bellows. The black-haired one, his eyes lurid and obscene, brandished aloft a fragment of black and grey stuff. He shouted hilariously:

‘Strip the bitch naked! … Ugh … Strip the bitch stark naked!’ and jumped down the little hill. He cannoned into Tietjens, who roared at the top of his voice:

‘You infernal swine. I’ll knock your head off if you move!’

Behind Tietjens’ back the girl said:

‘Come along, Gertie… . It’s only to there …’

A voice panted in answer:

‘I … can’t… . My heart …’

Tietjens kept his eye upon the city man. His jaw had fallen down, his eyes stared! It was as if the bottom of his assured world, where all men desire in their hearts to bash women, had fallen out. He panted:

‘Ergle! Ergle!’

Another scream, a little further than the last voices from behind his back, caused in Tietjens a feeling of intense weariness. What did beastly women want to scream for? He swung round, bag and all. The policeman, his face scarlet like a lobster just boiled, was lumbering unenthusiastically towards the two girls who were trotting towards the dyke. One of his hands, scarlet also, was extended. He was not a yard from Tietjens.

Tietjens was exhausted, beyond thinking or shouting. He slipped his clubs off his shoulder and, as if he were pitching his kit-bag into a luggage van, threw the whole lot between the policeman’s running legs. The man, who
had
no impetus to speak of, pitched forward on to his hands and knees. His helmet over his eyes, he seemed to reflect for a moment; then he removed his helmet and with great deliberation rolled round and sat on the turf. His face was completely without emotion, long, sandy-moustached and rather shrewd. He mopped his brow with a carmine handkerchief that had white spots.

Tietjens walked up to him.

‘Clumsy of me!’ he said. ‘I hope you’re not hurt.’ He drew from his breast pocket a curved silver flask. The policeman said nothing. His world, too, contained uncertainties and he was profoundly glad to be able to sit still without discredit. He muttered:

‘Shaken. A bit! Anybody would be!’

That let him out and he fell to examining with attention the bayonet catch of the flask top. Tietjens opened it for him. The two girls, advancing at a fatigued trot, were near the dyke side. The fair girl, as they trotted, was trying to adjust her companion’s hat; attached by pins to the back of her hair, it flapped on her shoulder.

All the rest of the posse were advancing at a very slow walk, in a converging semi-circle. Two little caddies were running, but Tietjens saw them check, hesitate and stop. And there floated to Tietjens’ ears the words:

‘Stop, you little devils. She’ll knock your heads off.’

Rt. Hon. Mr. Waterhouse must have found an admirable voice trainer somewhere. The drab girl was balancing tremulously over a plank on the dyke; the other took it at a jump: up in the air – down on her feet; perfectly businesslike. And, as soon as the other girl was off the plank, she was down on her knees before it, pulling it towards her, the other girl trotting away over the vast marsh field.

The girl dropped the plank on the grass. Then she looked up and faced the men and boys who stood in a row on the road. She called in a shrill, high voice, like a young cockerel’s:

‘Seventeen to two! The usual male odds! You’ll
have
to go round by Camber railway bridge, and we’ll be in Folkestone by then. We’ve got bicycles!’ She was half going when she checked and, searching out Tietjens to address, exclaimed: ‘I’m sorry I said that. Because some of you didn’t want to catch us. But some of you
did
. And you
were
seventeen to two.’ She addressed Mr. Waterhouse:

‘Why
don’t
you give women the vote?’ she said. ‘You’ll find it will interfere a good deal with your indispensable golf if you don’t. Then what becomes of the nation’s health?’

Mr. Waterhouse said:

‘If you’ll come and discuss it quietly …’

She said:

‘Oh, tell that to the marines,’ and turned away, the men in a row watching her figure disappear into the distance of the flat land. Not one of them was inclined to risk that jump: there was nine foot of mud in the bottom of the dyke. It was quite true that, the plank being removed, to go after the women they would have had to go several miles round. It had been a well-thought-out raid. Mr. Waterhouse said that girl was a ripping girl: the others found her just ordinary. Mr. Sandbach, who had only lately ceased to shout: ‘Hi!’ wanted to know what they were going to do about catching the women, but Mr. Waterhouse said: ‘Oh, chuck it, Sandy,’ and went off.

Mr. Sandbach refused to continue his match with Tietjens. He said that Tietjens was the sort of fellow who was the ruin of England. He said he had a good mind to issue a warrant for the arrest of Tietjens – for obstructing the course of justice. Tietjens pointed out that Sandbach wasn’t a borough magistrate and so couldn’t. And Sandbach went off, dot and carry one, and began a furious row with the two city men who had retreated to a distance. He said they were the sort of men who were the ruin of England. They bleated like rams… .

Tietjens wandered slowly up the course, found his ball, made his shot with care and found that the ball deviated several feet less to the right of a straight line than he had expected. He tried the shot again, obtained the same result and tabulated his observations in his notebook. He sauntered slowly back towards the club-house. He was content.

He felt himself to be content for the first time in four months. His pulse beat calmly; the heat of the sun all over him appeared to be a beneficent flood. On the flanks of the older and larger sandhills he observed the minute herbage, mixed with little purple aromatic plants. To these the constant nibbling of sheep had imparted a protective tininess. He wandered, content, round the
sandhills
to the small, silted harbour mouth. After reflecting for some time on the wave-curves in the sloping mud of the water sides he had a long conversation, mostly in signs, with a Finn who hung over the side of a tarred, stump-masted, battered vessel that had a gaping, splintered hole where the anchor should have hung. She came from Archangel; was of several hundred tons’ burthen, was knocked together anyhow, of soft wood, for about ninety pounds, and launched, sink or swim, in the timber trade. Beside her, taut, glistening with brasswork, was a new fishing boat, just built there for the Lowestoft fleet. Ascertaining her price from a man who was finishing her painting, Tietjens reckoned that you could have built three of the Archangel timber ships for the cost of that boat, and that the Archangel vessel would earn about twice as much per hour per ton.

It was in that way his mind worked when he was fit: it picked up little pieces of definite, workmanlike information. When it had enough it classified them: not for any purpose, but because to know things was agreeable and gave a feeling of strength, of having in reserve something that the other fellow would not suspect… . He passed a long, quiet, abstracted afternoon.

In the dressing-room he found the General, among lockers, old coats, and stoneware, washing basins set in scrubbed wood. The General leaned back against a row of these things.

‘You are the ruddy
limit
!’ he exclaimed.

Tietjens said:

‘Where’s Macmaster?’

The General said he had sent Macmaster off with Sandbach in the two-seater. Macmaster had to dress before going up to Mountby. He added: ‘The
ruddy
limit!’ again.

‘Because I knocked the bobbie over?’ Tietjens asked. ‘He liked it.’

The General said:

‘Knocked the bobbie over … I didn’t see that.’

‘He didn’t want to catch the girls,’ Tietjens said, ‘you could see him – oh, yearning not to.’

‘I don’t want to know anything about that,’ the General said. ‘I shall hear enough about it from Paul Sandbach. Give the bobbie a quid and let’s hear no more of it. I’m a magistrate.’

‘Then what have I done?’ Tietjens said. ‘I helped those girls to get off.
You
didn’t want to catch them; Waterhouse didn’t, the policeman didn’t. No one did except the swine. Then what’s the matter?’

‘Damn it all!’ the General said, ‘don’t you remember that you’re a young married man?’

With the respect for the General’s superior age and achievements, Tietjens stopped himself laughing.

‘If you’re really serious, sir,’ he said, ‘I always remember it very carefully. I don’t suppose you’re suggesting that I’ve ever shown want of respect for Sylvia.’

The General shook his head.

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘And damn it all I’m worried. I’m … hang it, I’m your father’s oldest friend.’ The General looked indeed worn and saddened in the light of the sand-drifted, ground glass, windows. He said: ‘Was that skirt a … a friend of yours? Had you arranged it with her?’