Dear Lupin... (4 page)

xx R

These two letters really sum what a tremendous man my dad was. Who could ask for more than this from a father?

Budds Farm

14 October

Dear Charles,

I have just had a call from Tony S. so will tear up and disregard your letter. Give the Army a chance. You simply must not think of quitting after five days. You say the life is unpleasing to you and will do you no good; I assure you that to bail out after a few days would damage your reputation among all who know you beyond repair, and would do you far more harm than a recruits' training course! I implore you to grit your teeth and stick it. If, after twelve weeks, you are still convinced that you are totally unsuited to the Army, then that is a different matter. But to concede defeat now is unthinkable.

Yours,

D

Life in the Brigade of Guards doesn't get off to a great start and after a few days of basic training it is already getting too much
.

Budds Farm

15 October

Dear Charles,

I have had a really, nice encouraging letter about you from Andrew Napier; your Company Commander apparently thinks well of you, too. I'm sure you will justify the opinion of all, including myself and all your family, who have great faith in your determination and ability.

Jane sends her love, also Tony S.

RM

I am shamed into staying! On parade for the first time the Company Sergeant Major shouts over to me (to my absolute horror), ‘You over there lad! Come over 'ere!' In my best attempt at marching I shamble over pathetically, sometimes even managing to swing both arms at the same time. The CSM addresses the entire parade ground of several hundred recruits: ‘I've been at Pirbright now for twenty-five years and there is only one thing that makes my life worthwhile and that is getting a right little cripple like Mortimer 'ere and after twenty-four weeks turning 'im into an 'alf bleeding cripple!'

Budds Farm

24 October

My Dear Charlie,

Thank you so much for your letter. At least you seem to have retained your sense of humour, a quality that will help you to survive singularly disenchanting situations. I expect life is fairly tough and gritty but then it's meant to be. A soft soldier is rather less use to the community and to himself than a wet paper bag. We often think of you here and everyone has faith in your ability to see things through. Louise and Jenny send their love; when I told Mr Randall about your friend with ringworm and scurf he laughed so much that he let out an extremely loud fart and was slightly embarrassed. I have many enquiries about you from the Carnarvon Arms where a large coloured postcard from Nidnod decorates the bar. I really think Nidnod had shown immense pluck and resilience but there may be late reactions. I am consulting the Regional Crime Prevention Officer to see if I can tighten up security here when Nidnod is on her own. What a dirty rat Tony S. is to sneak about the Rover! I had some drinks with a man with one eye and I was driving Mrs Wright home when I backed into an iron post. Very annoying and don't tell Nidnod! I have been using her car and people I give a lift to keep on asking me what the sign ‘Nidsky Nodsky' means on the dashboard. I say that your mother is a female freemason and it is a secret code sign. The other day I bought some sausages in Kingsclere, leaving the keys in the dashboard. Returning in heavy rain two minutes later I found the car had locked itself (the other doors I had locked at the station and had left locked). I could not get in and was desperate. I eventually did so but will not tell you how or you will tell Nidnod. I have been puzzled how to turn on the lights and open the bonnet but am gradually learning. Joanna Greenwell is in here; her brother has a straggly beard, does not wash, stays in bed till lunchtime except on the days he works as a male charwoman. His parents are not entirely satisfied with his way of life but he says he is ‘doing his thing' whatever that means; it sounds faintly rude. I saw Cringer in Newbury; he jumped into my arms and licked me rather too effusively. It is Mr P.'s fiftieth birthday on Monday and I am sending a fairly lewd card. I go to dinner there in the evening. No news from Jane who is less organised than ever and wastes her time making totally hideous handbags.

I must do some work. Keep your courage up and try and see the comic side. We are all on your side.

R

Clearly everyone else has a great deal more faith in me seeing things through than I do. My mother has just been badly beaten up in a robbery in Kenya and is showing considerably more resilience than I am. Generally speaking the women in my family are much tougher than the men
.

Budds Farm

1 November

Dear Charles,

I hope all goes reasonably well with you and that you are keeping out of trouble. Is there any chance of you getting permission to come home next weekend and see your mother? I know it would give her great pleasure to see you. Also you could help me with the drive to Gatwick to meet her. I hope to get the Rover back soon; I suppose I had second place in the queue after Tony's father! I had dinner with Jane last week and met her friend Colin something, a lounging sort of fellow with unkempt hair like a yak's tail. Very trendy no doubt, but give me Paul Torday any day. However, that's not my business. I had drinks with the Greenwells in their flat. They lent me a large Jaguar plus chauffeur to take me to Gibson Square but after forty-five minutes I had only got to Hyde Park Corner owing to the traffic and bailed out. I have many enquiries for you here and say as far as I know you are still breathing and not doing detention. I trust I am right.

Yours ever,

D

I have soon learnt that the best way to survive is to trade what you are good at with someone who can cover areas in which you are lacking. I service the platoon sergeant's old Jaguar and in return my kit gets buffed up
.

Budds Farm

13 November

Dear Charlie,

I hope you are still keeping your head above water. We all think of you a lot and admire you for the way you are tackling a life that is at present tough and demanding. Nidnod is very nervous still and got into a really alarming flap when a police car drew up at 8.30 p.m. last night and made enquiries about, of all really dreary things, a missing bicycle at Tadley. This very dim affair involved someone called Mortimer living at Burghclere and I eventually convinced two exceptionally thick members of the Hampshire Constabulary that I was not the Mortimer concerned, nor were you. Nidnod got very aggressive and thought they were burglars dressed as police, and made me check with Basingstoke Police Station. All in all I had a restless evening. Nidnod talks of buying a revolver, in which case I think she is certain to pot a member of her own family before long. However, don't tease her too much as she is obviously suffering from quite acute shock reaction. The builder is here today and found the floor in the loo by your room quite rotten. In a matter of days someone would have appeared feet first in the kitchen perched on the loo seat. Also the supports in the cellar are rotten and the entire house may collapse. Bankruptcy will stare me bleakly in the face after all the repairs are done. Mrs Lewis, whose daughter you know, cooled on Tuesday. I did not feel obliged to attend the funeral. Dr Britz's small son died the following day, aged two. I have just received another cheque in respect of the play and it is just about keeping me going at present. I hope it will at any rate run till Christmas. Uncle Ken has given his horse concussion. I shan't go to lunch again there in a hurry. The house is cold and there is SFA in the alcohol line.

RM

I suspect that if I were to remain a squaddie, I would be perfectly content. I make quite a few friends at Pirbright and on the whole life is very entertaining: ‘As for you Recruit Mortimer you're marching like a donkey with an 'ard on!'

Budds Farm

21 November

Dear Charlie,

Thank you so much for your cheerful and informative letter. I hope your squad will not totally disintegrate in the course of the next few weeks. I wish you luck in your PT test; I got the lowest possible marks for PT at Sandhurst and thank God never had to do any again afterwards. I think it is a smelly and undignified pastime. We had a man from the Hampshire Crime Prevention Squad round yesterday. His face was concealed under gigantic mutton-chop whiskers. I think he wants to install an electronic early-warning device here at a cost of about £5,000. What a hope! Your mother and Louise are hunting today and so of course there is a great flap and general commotion on; I intend to keep well clear. Prince Charles flew to a neighbouring airfield on Thursday and made himself very agreeable. Not so his equerry, Soames, who was reported to me as incompetent, ill-mannered, uncouth and very badly turned out with filthy boots. The Secretary of the Cottesmore Hunt, whom I met with Aunt Pips, was killed out hunting last week, his horse rolling him very flat indeed. Jane is coming down tomorrow accompanied by Gale but not, I am happy to say, by her bobbed-haired boyfriend whose name continues to elude me. Ian has been here trying to mend a radiator; he has failed to do so possibly because Nidnod never stopped talking and did not permit him to get on with the job.

Yours ever,

D

After my physical training test, the sergeant reads out the names of everyone in our platoon and their respective grades but to my surprise I'm not amongst them. He gives a theatrical pause and then continues, ‘As for you Recruit Mortimer you are merely interesting as a statistic.'

19 March

Dear Charlie,

I hope all goes well. I sat next to Major Philippi's father-in-law at luncheon. He is known as ‘Tadpole' Mead and has a son in the Coldstream. He said his son did very well at Pirbright but then got over-confident at Mons and dropped a term! The food was very good at the Popes and my liver took a lot of punishment. Nidnod drove my car so fast over a ramp that the wireless is now kaput. Louise has found a school where she can take her pony and do sailing + judo! She omits any mention of anything as crude as education.

No news of Jane. How does she live without working? I wish she would pass the secret on to me. I have hired a French girl to coach L in the holidays. I hope she is young and dishy and not one of those squat, hairy ones with Grenadier moustaches.

Work hard and don't drive too fast, please.

Yours ever,

D

I move on to an Outward Bound school (where incredulously I do rather well). One morning, leading a climb up an impossibly awkward cliff face, I am stopped in my tracks by an overhang. ‘Sergeant, I'm stuck,' I shout to the rather gruff Grenadier Guard Instructor. ‘Well get soddin' well unstuck then you soddin' little sheepshagger you!' is the unequivocal response. (The Grenadiers use the nick name ‘sheepshagger' for Coldstreamers.)

Budds Farm

22 March

Dear Charlie,

I enclose a letter from CNCA; I had one, too. I went to Simon Sandbach's twenty-first birthday party and heard some news of you there via the Yarrows. I went to the Surtees wedding on Saturday. I hate weddings; they are so sad. The bridegroom had been found up a tree in Chelsea early that morning by a police patrol and narrowly escaped arrest. I gave your mother lunch at the Ritz first; it cost me a month's pay. Cringer made a big mess in the hall today and I stepped slap into it. I met an officer called Holdsworth-Hunt who had known you at Pirbright and oddly enough seemed to think well of you. I hope all goes well at Mons and that you are pleasing Major Fishpleasure of the Tank Regiment or whatever the name of your company com mander is. The Closes move to Alton on 1 April. Jane is going to Greece for six months and so is Celia Toller. I am engaging a larky typist today. Uncle Chris was eighty yesterday; I feel it today.

Yours ever,

D

I am now a cadet at Mons Officer Training school in Aldershot. Our platoon sergeant introduces himself with, ‘I call you Sir and you call me Sir. The only difference being you mean it, I don't.'

Budds Farm

23 March

Dear Charlie,

Thanks for your entertaining letter. I am glad life is endurable at Mons and that you have a few friends to laugh with. Nidnod has a sore throat and is a bit crotchety in consequence. Did you read that huge account of the trial and conviction (four years) of Pete's brother? Nasty for them all. I did a recording here yesterday for the BBC on the Grand National but it came out as if there was a pillow stuffed in my mouth so will have to be done again. I am backing Cnoc Dubh, because the owner is lucky (and owes me some money) and Sandy Sprite for a place (it is trained by May's brother-in-law).

Best of luck,

D

I manage to make one or two fairly disreputable friends while at Mons
.

The Sunday Times

28 March

Dear Charlie,

It seems a long time since we last met and I do hope all goes well with you as I'm sure it does. Louise came home for the holidays with a temperature of 103 and has been in bed ever since, greatly to Nidnod's irritation as the plans for pony shows etc. have been cast into utter confusion. Your poor mother has a bad throat herself and is in poor spirits. Cringer has a chill and was sick in a peculiarly unattractive manner in my room yesterday. I went up to Doncaster and back on Saturday. I got a nice little seat in the luncheon car at an unoccupied table for two and was just getting my tongue round the Crosse & Blackwell's tinned asparagus soup when the waiter says, ‘There's a young honeymoon couple who don't want to be separated and your table would do them nicely. Do you mind moving and I can give a single seat at a table with some very nice people?' Like hell you can, I thought, but shifted with ill grace to leave the table to a very dirty young man with a beard like black cotton wool and a dark lady with the promising beginnings of a heavy cavalry moustache. They may not want to be separated now, I thought, but I bet they soon will be. Off I trudged to the ‘nice people' who turned out to be Lord Wigg and the lady from the Home Office who fulfils various functions in his life. If they were pleased to have my company, they concealed the fact remarkably well. The situation was not eased when I tried to pour out a glass of Vin du British Railways extrémement ordinaire when the train was doing 100 mph and sloshed it all over the table cloth. I stood the lady a glass of Benedictine that tasted as if it had been drummed up in the gasworks at Staines and this gesture was reciprocated by a lift to the races in the Mayor of Doncaster's Humber, Lord W. and his bird reclining on the Bedford cord upholstery at the back, I perched sedately in front with a very standoffish uniformed chauffeur. I think the chauffeur thought I was either Lord Wigg's valet – not a very efficient one judging from Lord W.'s turnout – or a rather elderly and decrepit private detective. However, my morale was slightly restored when a blonde lady with a nose like a chisel introduced herself to me in the Hyperion Bar as Edith Millercrap or some such name and stood me a large Irish whiskey which I naturally accepted. We had a lively conversation in which I was on the defensive at times, as for example when she asked, ‘What on earth had happened to Renée and those awful twins and did they still live in Penge?' It would be interesting, and doubtless humiliating, too, to discover who she thought I really was.