The Dust That Falls from Dreams (38 page)

‘And who’s feeding you? You must be living off something.’

‘Cookie, of course, and Millicent. They’re the salt of the earth, they are.’

‘In fact, you’re at the centre of a huge conspiracy.’

‘You could put it like that, sir.’

‘Don’t you get lonely?’

‘The cat comes in and makes a fuss. That’s nice, that is. You sleep better with a warm cat purring away in your face.’

‘Well, well, well. Is there anything I can do for you?’

‘You’re about the same size as me,’ said the gardener. ‘Got any cast-offs?’

‘I’ll have a look,’ said Daniel. ‘By the way, I’m not sure I know your name.’

‘Wragge, sir. Everyone calls me Oily. You may call me Mr Wragge, if you like, sir, because I was a sergeant major before, sir, and you can call me Oily if ever you know me better. I’ll call you sir if you don’t mind, sir. You’re probably an officer anyways, and it’ll save me having to remember.’

‘I am Captain Pitt, or at least I was before they turned the Flying Corps into the RAF. Well, Mr Wragge, I’ll bid you goodnight. Is there anything I can bring you?’

‘Not unless you got a spare floozy somewhere, sir.’

Daniel laughed. ‘If I had a spare one, Mr Wragge, I’d be keeping her to myself, and I’d be offering her a bed rather than a heap of sacks.’

‘Very wise, sir. I’d be doing the same. Could you spare me a gasper then?’

Daniel took out his case and removed three cigarettes, which he handed over, along with the box of matches. ‘I could probably find you a Sidcot suit, and an officer’s warm, if you’re getting cold at night,’ said Daniel.

‘That would be very congenial,’ said Wragge. ‘I’ll give ’em back when I find lodgings.’

‘Goodnight, Mr Wragge. Time for me to waggle my wings and
venture back into Hunland. I have hail to fly through, an HB to deal with.’

‘Hostile battery? That’ll be the mistress, then. Goodnight, sir, and thank you, and watch out for archie. Watch out for that Mrs McCosh.’

‘I do, Mr Wragge, I do. I always beware of HBs. And the Hun in the sun,’ and he set off back up the steps to the conservatory, wondering if he could get to the staircase without encountering any of the family. He would now have to deal with the aftermath of his bad manners, and having left table before grace.

‘My shoe is size nine,’ called Mr Wragge softly. ‘Just in case you was wondering.’

H
e found Rosie at the foot of the stairs, waiting for him, looking anxious and angry, so he forestalled her with ‘I’m going home.’

‘Home? To Partridge Green?’

‘Yes, Partridge Green.’

‘But you can’t! It’s so late.’

‘I have good lights.’

‘But what if you break down or get a nail in your tyre?’

‘I’ll sleep in a ditch. I’d rather sleep in a ditch than spend one more day in the same house as your wretched mother. Then I’ll go back to the airfield on Sunday evening.’

‘But why do you get so provoked? She does it because it’s so easy to get you angry! Why can’t you just stay calm, and smile, and shrug it all off like the rest of us?’

‘She picks almost exclusively on me. The moment she comes into the room I know I’m going to be attacked, and it gets worse every time I’m here. I’m sick of hearing about how I can’t hold a candle to “our lost son”, and I’m sick of being insulted and denigrated because of being half French.’

‘But you know she’s not herself! Don’t you remember her, from when we were small? She was so much fun. Don’t you remember?’

‘Of course I remember. That woman has gone.’

‘No, she’s still inside, somewhere, she really is.’

‘It’s immaterial,’ said Daniel. ‘I can’t stand it here and I’m coming back as little as I can.’

‘But, Daniel, don’t you understand? She found her dearest friend mangled. She saw a child’s head on a doorstep, looking at her. She’s never been the same. Surely you can see it’s not her fault? It’s shell shock.’

‘Rosie, every one of us has been through their own Hell for
years, you at Netley, where you must have seen the most terrible things day in and day out, and me in France. I’ve listened to people burning to death and screaming for God in wrecks that I shot down myself. I’ve come back from patrol and found two, three, four empty chairs in the mess, over and over again, month after month. I could go on. You know perfectly well how long one’s list is. Yours is probably longer than mine. Your mother’s list has one entry.’

‘But we’re not all the same! We expected to see what we saw. She wasn’t expecting it.’

‘In the end we have no choice, do we? We put it behind us, clench our teeth and battle on until the distance becomes sufficiently great. You’ve been indulging her. The whole family indulges her. No one challenges her, so she just gets worse and worse, until one day she’ll be so eccentric and so damned rude that even you won’t be able to live with her and you’ll have to put her in a loony bin.’

Rosie looked at him desperately, unable to concede.

‘Anyway,’ continued Daniel, ‘there are two ways out. Either you and Esther move with me into married quarters as soon as the squadron gets settled, or I leave the RAF and get a job somewhere quite a long way away, and you and Esther come and join me there.’

‘But I can’t leave my mother! How will my father cope with her?’

‘You have Millicent and Mary. And Ottilie hasn’t left home.’

‘But one day she’ll want to move away and get married! What then? Who’ll look after her? What about Daddy?’

‘Rosie, you’re married.’

Rosie looked at the floor dumbly. She sat on one of the hall chairs and put her face into her hands.

‘I’ve been such a disappointment,’ she said. ‘I’ve done everything wrong. I’ve been a terrible wife, I know it. I’m so sorry. I expect you hardly love me any more, do you?’

‘You gave me Esther,’ said Daniel. ‘That was the best gift anyone could have given me. Whatever happens, I’ll always love you for that.’

He went to fetch his Sidcot suit and shuffled it on. He sat on
the other hall chair and pulled on his boots, then he stood. ‘I’d better be going,’ he said. He hesitated, holding his flying gloves in one hand and his helmet and goggles in the other.

Rosie looked up at him, her eyes bloodshot from weeping. ‘Don’t go, Daniel, please don’t go. We’ve got to keep trying. Please stay.’

T
he Royal flying Corps had been amalgamated with the Royal Naval Air Service a year before, and Daniel had talked it over a great deal with Fluke, in the cricket pavilion of their temporary airfield, and in their local tavern. For old soldiers of the RFC there was far too much navy tommyrot in the RAF these days, and peacetime service was a full-scale bore. The brass hats and chair-warmers were clamping down on all that made aviation joyous. No flying under bridges. No contour-chasing and tree-hopping in case it upset the farmers, the cows and the horses, or made people spill their tea with the shock, or startled drivers into ditches. No more cloud-vaulting, no more split-arsing over the villages. No more binge nights when you smashed up everything in the mess, because now you couldn’t send out a vehicle to fetch in the abandoned chairs and tables from the ruins of French houses. Worst of all had been the introduction of endless hours of guards-style square-bashing, the surest sign that the force had lost sight of its purpose and was seeking only to enforce uniformity and keep the men occupied. ‘You might as well get us to dig holes and fill them in again,’ said Daniel. ‘I’m not wasting my mornings stamping around, and I don’t see why the men should either. I want my fitter working on my machine, not being yelled at by some numbskull with a head full of drill book.’

‘I hate this bloody uniform,’ said Fluke. ‘The old maternity dress was bad enough, but at least nobody made us wear it. What was wrong with your regimental duds with a pair of wings and your ribbons sewn on? And I’m damned if I like being a squadron leader. I’m a major, damn it. I’m a soldier, not a bloody air sailor.’

‘Remember the first uniform they came up with?’ said Daniel, and they both laughed. It had been a hideous and ridiculous outfit in vulgar blue, covered with gold. The policy had been
that, owing to the shortage of uniforms, only the new boys would have to wear the new outfit. As the old guard were killed off, the replacement of the old by the new had taken place naturally by a process of attrition, but there were plenty of surviving stalwarts who still felt as if they really belonged to their regiments. You don’t alter your allegiance by putting on something blue.

‘No more WRAFs,’ said Fluke gloomily. ‘I loved WRAFs. Almost as much as WAACs and dusky maidens. I got driven for miles by one in a combination, getting back to the squadron after a smash. Stout girl, lovely smile, wonder what happened to her.’

‘Think of all those empty Wraferies,’ said Daniel.

‘It’s a horrible thought,’ agreed Fluke.

‘No more airship service either.’

‘I don’t mind that too much,’ said Fluke. ‘There aren’t any Boche ones to shoot down any more, and you can’t pip the ones on your own side anyway. Might as well get rid of them.’

‘Good for submarine spotting,’ said Daniel.

‘No more submarines to spot,’ said Fluke. ‘I suppose you could sell them off to whalers. And why haven’t they issued us with parachutes yet? Don’t they give a damn? The Huns had them ages ago.’

‘Parachutes are for sissies,’ said Daniel. ‘True heroes bounce or burn.’ They both thought for a while of all those who might have been saved by parachutes.

‘Those RNAS types were damn good flyers, and they were all on land anyway, just like us. I feel sorry for them that they didn’t get much credit. But I’m damned if I can take all this navy mullarkey they’ve brought in with them. Why couldn’t they just be Royal Flying Corps?’

‘They wrote off my Tripe and let me have it,’ said Fluke. ‘Here’s to the naval types and their lovely old Tripes. And here’s a curse on all their naval mullarkey. And here’s to General Smuts. We forgive him.’ He tipped back a neat slug of whisky, and said, ‘Do you remember when we got so plastered that we couldn’t tell whisky and soda from champagne? Never been so sick in my life.’

‘Talking of credit,’ said Daniel, continuing on his own line of
thought, ‘what about the poor bastards in two-seaters? Imagine being in a Harry Tate and getting set on by six Fokkers.’

‘And the night-flyers,’ said Fluke. ‘Got no credit at all.’

‘We were the Glory Boys,’ said Daniel.

‘Actually we can’t be, because the Glory Boys are the Norfolk Regiment, and we can’t be “Death or Glory” either, because that’s the Gloucesters.’

‘The Norfolk Regiment are the Holy Boys. You’ve got in a muddle.’

‘Quite right. As you were. Can we be the Glory Boys after all?’

‘How about the “Glamour Boys”?’

‘That’ll do me,’ replied Fluke. ‘You know we’re down from 188 squadrons to thirty-three? From now on it’s a tuppenny-ha’penny air force. And God help the navy. We’re done for. We are muchly confounded. What’s next?’

‘Just Empire stuff,’ said Daniel. ‘There’s a squadron of Snipes waiting to pounce on the Huns at Bickendorf if they get frisky, but apart from that it’s India or Egypt or Malta or Mesopotamia or Somaliland, for God’s sake. Everyone’s being sent to Egypt as far as I can see. It’s packed full of bombers. God knows why.’

‘Don’t want to go there,’ said Fluke. ‘Worst place in the world to catch a dose. That’s why we lost in the Dardanelles. We sent the boys to Alexandria first. You can’t fight when you’re stinging with clap.’

‘I wouldn’t mind going back to India,’ said Daniel. ‘There’s plenty of action on the North-West Frontier, and my brother’s there too. I don’t think I can drag Esther and Rosie out there, though. So many disgusting things to die of. Simla’s lovely, of course.’

‘Never give up, do they, those Pathan wallahs?’

‘Indeed they don’t. There’s no one more stupidly courageous, as far as I know, apart from us. Tell me, Fluke, do you ever have doubts about this Empire business? The White Man’s Burden, our civilising mission and all that?’

‘After that last bash, there’s not much to say for civilisation, is there? We did call it “The War for Civilisation”, didn’t we, though? It’s on our medals. Makes you think.’

‘Well, I’ve been thinking.’

‘About what?’

‘About the North-West Frontier. Those Pathans.’

‘What about them?’

‘Well, they’re tribal. They don’t give a farthing about anyone except their own relations. They’re religious fanatics who don’t know a damn thing about their own religion because they can’t read their own language, let alone Arabic. They think that whatever they do, it was the Prophet who told them to do it, even if it’s gelding their prisoners and boiling rice. They’re as high as kites on opium and hashish, and can’t even make sense of each other. They aren’t like us and they don’t want to be like us, and the moment we go they’ll revert to being exactly as they were before.’

‘The moment we go? Are we going? I thought it was all about keeping the Russians at arm’s length. I can’t see an end to that, can you? Now that they’re Bolshies to boot.’

‘It doesn’t feel like that when you’re there,’ said Daniel. ‘The Russians are the last thing you think of. You pay the chiefs to control their own tribesmen and you burn their villages when they don’t. Oddly enough, they often help you do it, because wanton destruction is just about their favourite thing, and anyway they move their pots and pans out first. You hang them for doing things that are perfectly normal for them, like robbing and killing their neighbours, and then you find yourself in the middle of a blood feud that’s never going to finish.’

‘You don’t think it’s all worth it, then? East is East and West is West?’

‘I’m all in favour of having adventures,’ replied Daniel. ‘I had a wonderful time when I was a Frontier Scout, and in the Sikhs, but you know, there does come a time when you have to ask yourself, “Well, are you actually doing any good?” ’

‘Truth to tell, I’ve had many a furtive doubt myself.’

‘I lost two brothers in South Africa,’ said Daniel, ‘and my best friend at Westminster died of blackwater fever in Kenya. Another old mucker died of typhoid in India, and his wife too, who was a sweetie if ever I met one, and on and on it goes, Britain’s finest and best swallowed up by the Empire.’ He paused, then added,
‘Don’t mistake my meaning, old chap, I’m as much of a jingo as anyone, and I’ve got two countries to be a jingo for, and I enjoy Empire Day and Bastille Day as much as anyone else. The old chest swells with pride, doesn’t it? You can hardly help it. Even so, look at the price of it all! You build roads and railways, and set up clinics and schools, and then the subject peoples aren’t grateful enough for any of it to be worth it, and when they get awkward about it, we bash them on the head with sticks, and then they get even less grateful. I don’t think we should be wasting our lives on them. Look at Macedonia. You set up a League of Nations mandate to guide the liberated but benighted ones towards democracy, whereat they wax exceeding wroth against the infidel, and they simply have a marvellous time taking potshots at us.’ He paused, and added, ‘In the end, doing something just because the government tells you to isn’t enough, is it? That isn’t what patriotism really means, is it? If you love your country, it shouldn’t be at the expense of anyone else, should it?’

‘Hmm,’ said Fluke, ‘I see that ye are one of little faith these days. Bunking off church parades and backing off from the good old imperium. Better not go round telling too many people; they might think you’re a socialist and stop inviting you to hunt balls.’

‘I generally keep all this to myself. Worry not. And hunt balls are my idea of Hell. But I do suspect that more and more people will start to have the same doubts. I think it’s inevitable.’

‘Time for us both to resign, methinks, before they catch us at ten thousand feet with idle puttees and without a tie on. Hateful thought. We can always join up again if anything exciting happens. You know what,’ said Fluke, ‘wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could buy up some buses and set up in business split-arsing at county shows?’

‘Everyone else has had the same idea; even Rosie’s father suggested it. We should have left the RAF the moment the war ended, like Cecil. He got that wonderful job with Vickers and went straight to China. The market is saturated and bursting at the seams. There are thousand of flyers and thousand of machines. The Yanks have got hordes of barnstormers, but here it hasn’t caught on. The other thing would be to set up postal services in
rather big places like Australia or Tanganyika. Has anyone ever thought of a flying medical service? For civilians?’

‘No idea. It does occur to me that if you want to have a passenger service you’d have to buy bombers. Do you suppose there are any Gothas left?’

‘Very crudely built. I’d go for a Vickers Vimy,’ said Daniel, ‘or a Hereford.’

‘Let’s go upstairs for a flip and throw our buses about,’ said Fluke. ‘Let us dispel the gloom, and frolic in the empyrean. Rumour hath it that our machines are warmed up even as we speak, and the cumuli are cotton castles on this fine and frivolous day.’

‘I’ll take that as an order, Squadron Leader,’ said Daniel.

‘Major to you,’ said Fluke.

‘And I shall forever be Captain,’ said Daniel, ‘on the assumption that the prospects of promotion end whenever a war does. If I could take my Snipe with me I’d resign tomorrow.’

What finally caused him to leave was the departure of Fluke himself. Fluke had gone on impulse to the Argentinian Embassy in London in order to offer his services in the setting up of their fledgling air force, and this amazing stroke of initiative had borne fruit almost immediately. There was still plenty of scope for war in South America.