Authors: Julian Mitchell
“Yes, they let down their skirts, all right,” said Jumbo, rumbling with laughter.
“When you never knew what might not happen from one day to the next, you stopped worrying, I found,” said White. “I worry much more now about my business than I ever did during the war about whether or not I was going to come out of it alive.”
“I worried,” said Shrieve. They all looked at him.
“Did you, Hugh?” said Trevelyan. “You were always the quiet one.”
“Poor old Hughie,” said Jumbo, “he used to sit in his cabin and read while we were boozing up, didn’t he? Give the brandy a fair wind, Skipper, would you?”
“I don’t remember sitting in my cabin much,” said Shrieve. “I seem to recall being drunk night after night.”
“We certainly all drank far too much,” said Laughton. “I couldn’t take it now, could you?”
“I wouldn’t even try,” said White. “Navy gin, that was stronger, too, wasn’t it? God, do you remember the day we
had a competition to see who could get down the most pink gins before lunch? I was sick for days.”
“Yes,” said Jumbo, “I remember that day well.” Tears came into his large red-lidded eyes. “It was Merlin Lewis, poor old Merlin, who won. We had to carry him to his cabin, slewed to the scuppers ourselves.”
“We dropped him on the deck a couple of times,” said White. “He had a terrible gash next morning, when he finally came to.”
“A noble wound,” said Jumbo. “And three weeks later he was dead.” He raised his glass. “To our dead comrades,” he said solemnly.
There was an uneasy pause after they had drunk. Jumbo was quite capable of starting on a whole series of embarrassing toasts.
“Ah,” said Jumbo, shaking his head, the dewlaps wobbling, “we shall not look upon their like again.”
“Do you know,” said Laughton, “I can’t remember what Merlin Lewis looked like. Was he the short dark one?”
“No, Merlin was tall with curly brown hair,” said Trevelyan. “George Hardcastle was short and dark.”
“You should remember, Number One,” said Jumbo
reproachfully
. “You were our Welfare Officer, weren’t you?”
“Was I?” said Laughton.
“No,” said Shrieve. “I was Welfare Officer, because I can remember how often we had to dip into the funds to bail out Jumbo.”
The others laughed with a certain cruelty. Jumbo said, “Oh come, old fellow, one’s only young once, after all. Which of us didn’t get up to a few shady pranks, eh?”
“Pranks, Jumbo?” said Perkins, swaying slightly. “You mean you call those terrible things you did pranks?”
“Oh, I wasn’t so bad,” said Jumbo. He beamed round jovially, as though no one present knew the truth about him.
“The real thing about those days,” said Laughton, easing himself back in his chair, “was the sense of unity everywhere, wasn’t it? You really felt everyone was in it together. We were
a real nation then, we weren’t for ever bickering about politics. There was none of this damned business of trade unions quarrelling amongst themselves, stopping you getting a decent day’s work out of your men. Things really hummed then, didn’t they? Do you remember that feeling of unity?”
“Oh yes,” said White carelessly, brushing the ash of his cigar against his plate. “No one doubted we were doing the right thing, we all felt the war had to be fought. There was no question about it at all. It was a great time in that way.”
“It’ll never be like that again in our lifetimes,” said Perkins.
“Good old Winston,” said White. “I shall never forget those speeches, will you? I used to sit in front of the wireless and feel the tears running down my cheeks, honestly I did.”
“Never before in the history of mankind have so many done so much for so few,” intoned Jumbo majestically.
“Oh, Jumbo!” said Shrieve, not knowing whether to laugh. He seemed to be the only one to notice that the quotation was wrong.
“He’s a poet, Churchill,” said Jumbo. He puffed drunkenly on his cigar. “That’s what he is, a poet.”
“Things have never been the same since he resigned in 1945,” said Trevelyan, carried along on the wave of emotion.
“That was ingratitude for you,” said White, shaking his head. “To think that we as a nation could have acted like that. I felt ashamed when the results were announced. Truly ashamed.”
“It’ll never be like that again,” said Perkins. “Not in our lifetimes. We’ll never know that feeling again.”
They all nodded sombrely.
“Oh, come on,” said Shrieve. He didn’t like sentimentality about the war. The war had been a just war, it had been right to fight in it, to be prepared to die, if necessary, for one’s country. But this drunken maundering repelled him. “It’s got to be like that again,” he said. “It would be too awful if the country could only be united to fight a war.”
“Ah, Hugh, you’ve been away. You don’t know how things have changed,” said Trevelyan. “There’s a bitterness today,
and a sort of couldn’t-care-less attitude. No one thinks of anything except feathering his own nest. Things have changed.”
“Yes,” said White, “they certainly have. Out there in the bush with your niggers, Hugh, you may not notice any difference between one year and the next. But you can take it from me that things have pretty much gone to pot.”
“Gone to pot,” echoed Laughton, unconsciously patting his stomach.
“How about a whisky and soda, eh?” said Jumbo. “Just a touch to warm us up for the journey home.”
There was general agreement and a looking at watches.
“Time for a quick one,” said Perkins. He touched his temples briefly with the tips of his fingers. “It’s a good thing I didn’t bring the car,” he said. “I don’t think I’d be fit to drive.”
“Ah,” said Jumbo, “I told you not to, Ludo. You know how these things go, old chap. We don’t want any of you in the ditch on the way back, do we?”
“Or in the dock for drunken driving,” said White.
Jumbo looked at him and frowned, displeased by the
mention
of court. But he decided not to take offence.
“I think I’ve had enough,” said Trevelyan, refusing the waiter’s glass. “I’m not as young as I was.”
“Poor old Skipper, getting a bit of a greybeard, eh?” said Jumbo. He drank deeply from his glass and beckoned to the waiter for another.
“You know,” said Perkins, “I miss the comradeship, the spirit of the mess, you know.” He was drunker than the others, but they watched him warmly. “It’ll never be like that again. It was a great time. We were all pals, all good pals.” He swayed in his seat. “Never be like that again.”
“That’s right, Ludo,” said Laughton.
“Knew where we were, then, all good pals.”
The smoke of cigars and cigarettes had filled the room, and Shrieve felt the alcohol blurring his vision. Jumbo was slumped on his elbows with his huge head in his hands, his
mouth open. Laughton leaned back with his eyes closed. White had loosened his top trouser-buttons.
“It was a great time,” repeated Perkins.
Jumbo raised his head and stared at him aggressively. “What d’you say, Ludo?”
“I say it was a great time. Never be like that again.”
“Never be like that again,” said Jumbo, nodding
ponderously
. Then he jerked his head up, his eyes bleary, and said, “Bloody good show.”
They all took him to mean that the war had been a bloody good show, and paid no attention.
“Bloody good show,” said Jumbo truculently. “It was bloody awful, the war. I hated every bloody minute of it.”
“What?” said Laughton, sitting up.
Jumbo thumped on the table with his fist and said loudly, “It was a bloody horrible time.” Then he slumped forward again, head in hands.
“Come on, Jumbo,” said Trevelyan, “you know you don’t think that. You’re tight, that’s all.”
“I’m not tight,” said Jumbo. He raised his head and glared at him. “I can drink any of you under the table.”
“Of course you can, old boy,” said Trevelyan. “No one doubts it.”
“You think I’m good for nothing, don’t you?” said Jumbo, his voice trembling between aggression and self-pity. “You think just because I’ve had a little trouble in my life I’m not as good as you, don’t you? You all laugh at me, I know you do.” His bloodshot eyes stared angrily round. Then they clouded and he began to weep. “I know I’m no good. I know I’m no good.”
“Shut up, Jumbo,” said White in a kindly voice.
Jumbo’s face was streaked with tears. “I was always scared,” he sobbed. “Every single minute I was scared to death. I used to lie awake at night, scared to go to sleep. I’m no good, I was never any good. It was a bloody time, a bloody, bloody time.”
“No it wasn’t, Jumbo,” said Shrieve harshly. “It was the
best time of your life, and you know it.” He could not keep the contempt out of his voice.
The others watched Jumbo uneasily. He pulled out a large red handkerchief and blew his nose thunderously. He
remained
, however, lachrymose. “It was you fellows that kept me going. I’d never’ve stuck it out if it hadn’t been for you fellows. You’re good chaps, good pals.”
“All good pals,” said Perkins. He belched softly.
“It ruined me, the war,” said Jumbo, beginning to feel better. “I might have been a decent chap like the rest of you, but the war broke my nerve. I know it was that.”
“I think it’s time I was going home,” said Trevelyan.
“I need you all,” said Jumbo. A last great sob racked his enormous frame and set his wattles trembling. “You’re my only friends. I haven’t a soul in the world except you chaps. Not a penny, not a friend.”
“You’ve got a fine new job, Jumbo,” said Trevelyan firmly.
“Yes, yes, I have. A good job. You’re right. I’m sorry, chaps. Got carried away a bit.”
“Time to go,” said Trevelyan. He called for the bill, then turned to Shrieve. “I suppose we don’t ask Jumbo to pay his share, do we?” he murmured.
“Does he usually?”
“Sometimes.”
“I’ll pay for him,” said Shrieve.
“No, no, we’ll divide it. But we might have the bill presented to him, don’t you think?”
“No, please not. I couldn’t bear it if he started crying again. One shouldn’t be cruel.”
“You’re too soft, Hugh.”
“Perhaps.”
The waiter brought the bill, and Trevelyan added a tip, then divided it by five, paid his share and passed it to Perkins, who put down some notes, saying, “All goes on expenses, you know. Never be like that again.”
When the plate reached Jumbo, he put his hand easily into his pocket, then went into a pantomime of horror.
“My God!” he said, searching feverishly, “my wallet’s been pinched! And there’s twenty-five quid in it!”
Laughton took the plate without a word, and Jumbo’s eyes followed the fluttering notes with anguish.
“What a simply terrible thing,” he said. “I can’t think where it can have happened.” He smacked his brow. “I know. A man bumped into me rather hard as I was getting out of the tube. That’s the way those people work, you know.”
“You should report it to the police,” said White shortly.
“The police?” said Jumbo, alarmed. “Oh, yes. Yes, I’d better. First thing tomorrow morning.”
“Why not now?” said White. “There’s bound to be a phone here somewhere.”
Jumbo looked anxiously at him and said, “I don’t expect they’ll be able to recover it, do you? I mean, the chap just bumped into me. I’d never recognise him. He’s probably thrown the wallet away somewhere. It’s a confounded nuisance.”
“Perhaps you just dropped it somewhere, Jumbo,” said Laughton. “It may have been handed in to a police station.”
“Yes, that’s possible, old chap. But you know, I’m pretty well certain that it was that chap at the tube station. I
remember
thinking it a bit odd of him not to apologise. But then people are so ill-mannered these days.” He was quite recovered now.
“Anyone for Victoria?” said Trevelyan.
“Me,” said Perkins. “I mean, I.” He was having difficulty in standing.
“I expect you need a breath of fresh air,” said Jumbo, taking him masterfully by the elbow. “A bit of a blow, eh?”
“Never be like that again,” said Perkins.
“It was very good to see you again,” said Trevelyan to Shrieve. “Are you around for long?”
“Yes, for a——” Shrieve suddenly remembered. “I mean, no. I’m flying back tomorrow morning. There seems to be some sort of trouble out there.”
“Bad luck,” said Trevelyan. “Let me know when you’re
back in the country again, won’t you? It really has been such fun seeing you again.”
“Yes, Hugh,” said Laughton, “and we’ve spent so much time talking about ourselves that we’ve hardly heard anything about what you’ve been up to.”
“I don’t expect you’d find it very interesting.”
“We get stuck in our narrow little ways,” said Laughton. “I expect you find us all pretty dull.”
“Not at all,” said Shrieve. “You all seem more or less happy. What more could you ask?”
“We’re happy all right,” said White. “I am, anyway.”
They watched Jumbo help Perkins through the door.
“That one, though,” said White, “he’s more trouble than he’s worth. Did you tell him about it, Sidney?”
“Yes,” said Trevelyan. “Jumbo tried to touch him, of course.”
“He never gives up, does he?” said Laughton. “I wonder what that job of his is really like. It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if he was nothing more than a bottle-washer.”
“Poor Jumbo,” said Shrieve. “Do you suppose the war really did ruin him? I should have thought he was ruined long before it started.”
“He’s a rogue,” said Trevelyan. “He’s always been a rogue, and he always will be a rogue. Nothing will ever change him. We were his suckers, that’s all. One thing the war certainly taught me was that it’s no use being kind to rogues like Jumbo, they’ll simply try and soak you for everything you’ve got. Yet look at me. I gave my oath that I considered him a man of upright character. Not just once, either. Twice. Jumbo’s succeeded in making me perjure myself twice.”
“Come on,” said White, “we can’t stand here all night thinking up new names to call Jumbo. I’m for a taxi to Waterloo. Anyone coming?”
“I’ll be in Africa this time tomorrow,” said Shrieve.
“The best of luck, old chap,” said Trevelyan.
They went out through the door of the restaurant and into the street. Behind them the waiter locked the door and shot
home the bolts. Outside it was warm, with the stars unusually-bright and the Milky Way like a lock of white hair on a glossy black head.