‘Oh, field-marshal is the highest. He carries a baton.’
‘What a common thing to do!’
‘Why, mater?’
‘Well, I thought it was only stupid policemen who did that. The army is very strange, my boy.’
I did my best to enlighten the dear old lady, but I had no success. When colonels and majors came to tea, she called them corporals or sergeants, to the enjoyment of all. They never disillusioned her. She was such a kind old soul. And now that I am a military cadet, she had got the idea that I am a most important person. She confided in Aunt Jane’s ear that I should soon be a ‘brass hat.’
‘What’s that?’ asked Aunt Jane.
‘Oh, the pretty men who ride in front of the band and give orders.’
‘How nice!’
Aunt Jane was mater’s youngest sister. She was almost forty-five, unmarried, quite a fine woman to look at, and a good soul. When I was at school she used to send me mince-pies, plum-puddings, and cigarettes. (Mater didn’t know about the cigarettes.)
The greatest weakness the old lady has is jumping to conclusions. Like a silly ass, I had written and said I had caught a cold on a route march, owing to the awful weather.