II
And now Colonel Philpott comes into the story. I wish to God he had kept out of it altogether. He was one of a class of officer with which our division was specially afflicted—at least we believed so, if only for the credit of the British Army; for if they were typical of the Old Army I do not know how we came out of 1914 with as much honour as we did. But I am happy to think they were not. We called them the Old Duds, and we believed that for some forgotten sin of ours, or because of a certain strong 'Temporary' spirit we had, they were dumped upon us by way of penalty. We had peculiarly few Regular officers, and so perhaps were inclined to be extra critical of these gentlemen. Anyhow, at one time they came in swarms, lazy, stupid, ignorant men, with many years of service—retired, reserve, or what not—but no discoverable distinction either in intellect, or character, or action. And when they had told us about Simla and all the injustices they had suffered in the matter of promotion or pay, they ousted some young and vigorous Temporary fellow who at least knew something of fighting, if there were stray passages in the King's Regulations which he did not know by heart; and in about a week their commands were discontented and slack. In about two months they were evacuated sick (for they had no 'guts,' most of them), and that was the finest moment of their careers—for them and for us.
Lt.-Col. (Tem'y) W. K. Philpott (Substantive Captain after God knows how many years) out-dudded them all, though, to give him his due, he had more staying power than most of them. He took over the battalion when Colonel Roberts was wounded, and the contrast was painfully acute. I was his adjutant for twelve months in all, and an adjutant knows most things about his C.O. He was a short, stoutish fellow, with beady eyes and an unsuccessful moustache, slightly grey, like a stubble-field at dawn. He had all the exaggerated respect for authority and his superiors of the old-school Regular, with none of its sincerity; for while he said things about the Brigadier which no colonel should say before a junior officer, he positively cringed when they met. And though he bullied defaulters, and blustered about his independence before juniors, there was no superior military goose to whom he would have said the most diffident 'Bo.' He was lazy beyond words, physically and mentally, but to see him double out of the mess when a general visited the village was an education. It made one want to vomit....
Then, of course, he believed very strongly in 'The Book,' not Holy Writ, but all that mass of small red publications which expound the whole art of being a soldier in a style calculated to invest with mystery the most obvious truths. 'It says it in The Book' was his great gambit—and a good one too. Yet he betrayed the most astonishing ignorance of The Book. Any second lieutenant could have turned him inside out in two minutes on Field Service Regulations, and just where you expected him to be really efficient and knowledgeable, the conduct of trials, and Military Law, and so on, he made the most hideous elementary howlers.
But ignorance is easily forgivable if a man will work, if a man will learn. But he would neither. He left everything to somebody else, the second-in-command, the adjutant, the orderly-room. He would not say what he wanted (he very seldom knew), and when in despair you made out his orders for him he invariably disagreed; when he disagreed he was as obstinate as a mule, without being so clever. When he did agree it took half an hour to explain the simplest arrangement. If you asked him to sign some correspondence for the Brigade, he was too lazy and told you to sign it yourself; and when you did that he apologized to the Brigade for the irregularities of his adjutant—'a Temporary fellow, you know.' For he had an ill-concealed contempt for all Temporaries; and that was perhaps one reason why we disliked him so much. He would not believe that a young officer, who had not spent twenty years drinking in mess-rooms, could have any military value whatever. Moreover, it annoyed him intensely (and here he had my sympathy) to see such men enjoying the same pay or rank as he had enjoyed during the almost apocryphal period of his captaincy. And having himself learned practically nothing during that long lotus-time, it was inconceivable to him that any man, however vigorous or intelligent, could have learned anything in two years of war.
Now let me repeat that I do not believe him to be typical of the Old Army, I know he was not (thank God); but this is a history of what happened to Harry, and Colonel Philpott was one of the things which happened—very forcibly. So I give him to you as we found him, and since he may be alive I may say that his name is fictitious, though there are, unhappily, so many of him alive that I have no fears that he will recognize himself. He would not be the same man if he did.
We went out for a fortnight's rest after that battle, and Harry had trouble with him almost at once. He had amused and irritated Harry from the first—the Old Duds always did—for his respect for authority was very civilian and youthful in character; he took a man for what he was, and if he decided he was good stood by him loyally for ever after; if he did not he was severe, not to say intolerant, and regrettably lacking in that veneration for the old and incapable which is the soul of military discipline.
Philpott's arrogance on the subject of Temporaries annoyed him intensely; it annoyed us all, and this I think it was that made him say a very unfortunate thing. He was up before the C.O. with some trifling request or other (I forget what), and somehow the question of his seniority and service came up. Incidentally, Harry remarked, quite mildly, that he believed he was nearly due for promotion. Colonel Philpott gave as close an imitation of a lively man as I ever saw him achieve; he nearly had a fit. I forget all he said—he thundered for a long time, banging his fist on the King's Regulations, and knocking everything off the rickety table—but this was the climax:
'Promotion, by God! and how old are you, young man? and how much service have you seen? Let me tell you this, Master Penrose, when I was your age I hadn't begun to think about promotion, and I did fifteen years as a captain—fifteen solid years!'
'And I don't wonder,' said Harry.
It was very unfortunate.