So far we have never dared to try “the other,” for fear that we appear “real mean”! Maman bustles about, and calls us her brave boys, and never says a word about the war, which is a real kindness to us war-weary people.
Cécile makes her entrance usually after the second bottle; probably to make her sister envious, because she always gets such a warm welcome. In fact there is an almost scandalous amount of competition for the honour of sitting next to her.
La Veuve Matifas stays until after the third bottle. She has tact, that woman, and a confidence in ourselves and her daughters that no man who is worthy of the name would take advantage of.
Last time we were there an incident occurred which literally took all our breaths away. We were in the middle of what Allmays calls “Close harmony” and Allmays was mixing high tenor, basso profundo, and Benedictine, when suddenly the door opened in a most impressive manner. That little plain deal door felt important, and it had the right to feel important too.
The C.O. came in.
We got up.
The C.O. turned to Cécile, who was sitting far too close to Pelham, in my estimation (for I was on the other side), and said, “Cécile, two more bottles please!” Then to us, “Sit down, gentlemen, carry on.” We were all fairly senior officers, but Maman nearly fainted dead away when we conveyed to her the fact that a real, live, active service Colonel was in her back parlour at 9.15 “pip emma,” ordering up the bubbly.
He stayed a whole hour, and we had to sing. And then he told us that he had been offered a Brigade, and was leaving us. We were all jolly sorry—and jolly glad too—and we said so. We told the girls. “Un Général!” cried Cécile. “Mon Dieu!” and before we could stop her she flung her arms round the C.O.’s neck and kissed him. We all expected to be shot at dawn or dismissed the service, but the C.O. took it like a real brick, and Pelham swears he kissed her back—downy old bird that he is!
After he had left we had a bully time. Marie Antoinette was peeved because she had not kissed the Colonel herself, and Cécile was sparkling because she had kissed him. Which gave us all a chance. Mère Matifas drank two whole glasses of champagne, and insisted on dancing a Tarantelle with Allmays, whom she called a “joli garçon,” and flirted with most shamelessly. Pelham got mixed up with a coon song, and spent half an hour trying to unmix, and Scholes consoled Marie Antoinette. As for me, well, there was nothing for it—Cécile had to be talked to, don’t you know!
Mother “pro-duced” a bottle of “B. & W.” also. In fact we had a most stirring time!