The Death of Hope by Andrew Wareham (inspirational books for women txt) 📕

“One thing, sir. We have got a Mess to usethis leave. Brigade has taken over a pair of barns and converted them for theofficers’ use. Not entirely luxurious, shall we say. A lot better than tents.”

They retired to the building as snow beganto fall, found a large room with a fire in the middle and chairs and tables setout. A row of cabins had been built down the far wall, graduating in size fromcolonel’s office and bedroom to second lieutenant’s hutches.

“Paraffin stoves as well, sir, keepingthem warm, if a bit smelly.”

There was a substantial bar, thinly ladenwith bottles, and a door through to kitchens behind it.

“Up to us to buy in anything we want todrink, sir.”

“Step into my room a moment, Hawkeswill.”

Paisley was there, had his personalbelongings arranged already. Richard picked up the small and heavy attaché case,dug out a large drawstring bag, tipped it out on the desk on the side of theroom that was his office.

“Let me see… Ten, twenty, thirty, forty,fifty.” He set out five piles of shiny sovereigns. “Should be sufficient tokeep us going for a week, do you think? Arrange a whip round if we need anymore. Don’t make any fuss about where this money has come from.”

Hawkeswill glanced at his watch andgrabbed the coins and ran.

“Time enough to get to town and back, sir,before dinner, if I can grab transport.”

Richard was disturbed as he changed fordinner, hearing yells of approval from the big room.

“Sounds as if the Adjutant’s back, sir.”

“So it does, Paisley. Let’s see what he’sgot.”

Even at wartime prices, fifty gold sovereignswent a long way, the French shopkeepers being willing to give a hefty discountfor gold rather than paper.

Hawkeswill was more than pleased with himself.

“Good brandy and bad, sir - most of thislot won’t be able to tell the difference. White wine and red, some of it good,all of it palatable with dinner. Belgian beer, being as a refugee has establisheda brewery. Not comparable with an English pint, to my mind. Drinkable, though.Sufficient of everything to keep us going up to and over Christmas. If we startto run out, there’s more where this lot came from, provided there’s cash to buyit!”

Some of the officers had private incomes,none had been able to spend their pay in many months. A mess fund was organisedon the spot and Hawkeswill promised to show them the way round in the morning.

Major Vokes gave his measured approval.

“Get them all pulling together, sir. Whata Mess is all about!”

Vokes had his suspicions about the sourceof the first funds, said nothing. It was in no way out of tradition for awealthy colonel to subsidise his Mess, though less common in recent years. Theyoung men would enjoy themselves far more with a glass to hand and he wouldensure that they did not go too far, drink too heavily for their own good.

“Have to say that I am pleased to be backin a Mess again, sir, even if only for a few weeks. Feels more like the proper Army.Haven’t enjoyed pigging it in a trench. Mind you, it’s not too much unlikeconditions in the Peninsula on occasion, from what I have read in the RegimentalHistory. Not what an officer wants for years on end, however!”

Richard agreed. It was not what he wantedat all… It was doing him a deal of good, he had to admit. His life had beenturned upside down by this war. He had been made prosperous and must expect tocontinue to flourish when peace eventually came. If he remained as a soldier,he had a certain career ahead of him; should he choose to leave the Army, hecould almost make his pick of occupations, walking into virtually any boardroomthat he chose. Add to that, he would have a wife - not the least of hisrewards, by a long way. It was a lousy war, literally so, yet he was profitingfrom it.

He sat with a glass to hand after dinner,removed a little from the mass of his officers, as was correct, quietlythinking, musing over his immediate past and looking to the future.

Provided Haig did not manage to kill him –and French had not achieved that and Haig was probably brighter than him – thenhe was a made man.

Ridiculous, was it not?

He smiled a welcome to Vokes and Caton asthey came across, thinking that the colonel should not be left without company,that it was only courtesy to sit with him.

“The boys are letting off a bit of steamtonight.”

There was a lot of noise coming from theend where the youngsters had congregated, distant from their superiors.

“They are alive, Vokes. Just coming toappreciate the fact and aware that six of their number are not. Eighteen andnineteen years old, most of them – too young to be made aware of mortality andneeding a drink or two to dull the edges of that realisation.”

“Very philosophical, Colonel?”

“Sat back like this, one can think ofthose who have not made it, Vokes. I left a good few of the Third Beds behindand have seen too many of these youngsters go down. I can afford an hour ofmemories. Not two, however!”

They agreed – there had never such asustained level of losses in the history of the Army. The junior officersespecially had been killed off wholesale.

“Too many youngsters who volunteered inAugust are not here now, Colonel. A lot of families have lost all of theirsons, have been effectively wiped out. Letters from Home tell me of estatescoming on the market every week, their men all gone.”

All three had heard of military families –father a major or colonel, sons gone as subalterns – who had been lost, all of themfalling to the machine guns. It seemed likely that every family of thearistocracy had lost at least one young man.

“Not quite,” Richard corrected them. “Ihave memories of being told that the passenger lists on the Cunard and UnionCastle and White Star and P and O liners were absolutely full in the monthsbefore the war broke out. When it became obvious that there would be a war, agood few chose to take a holiday in