Pook's Eastern Promise

ONE

I watched fascinatedly as Honners wrote in his diary ‘World War II commenced 3rd September, 1939, and terminated 14th August, 1943. This day I did resign from the navy. God save the King.’

With a satisfied smirk Honners banged his diary shut, went over to the wardrobe and began to take off his naval uniform. But the war isn’t over yet, Honners, I protested. By the way it’s going at present it could drag on for years.

It may well drag on for years, Peter, but it will have to drag on without me, Honners replied, starting to dress in his Norfolk jacket, breeches and boots, despite the heat of the Indian day. I always said my country could have me for three years—give or take a couple of weeks for form-filling, medical examinations and courts martial—so now my country can hand me back; that is to say, hand back what’s left of me after the ravages of combat, insomnia, mal-de-mer, shellshock, malnutrition, sunstroke, anaemia, dandruff, dysentery, malaria, loss of smell, dhobi rash and suspected rickets of the legs. It is a remarkable tribute to the fighting services that they manage to cram the illnesses of a lifetime into three years of protracted hell.

But, Honners, you know as well as I do that nobody can resign from the navy in time of war, I protested.

Being so short, Honners found it impossible to look down his nose at people unless they were practically lying on the ground, but he had overcome this handicap by throwing his head back as far as it would go, then looking down his nose at them. This unique feat he performed now for my benefit. Firstly, Peter, I happen not to be a nobody. My Uncle Graham is the Seventh Sea Lord at the Admiralty at the last count of heads, while I am a nob of the blood in my own right. Therefore I have written in, letting the personnel manager or whatever he’s called know that I shan’t be clocking in as from Friday. I have also applied to be invalided out on a disability pension, with particular reference to my loss of smell due to gunfire. Secondly, Peter, I am resigning from the navy as a test case, on the grounds of my other disabilities, i.e. deafness, defective arm, speech impediment, shortsight and leg deformity, whereby I am precluded from bearing orders, saluting, saying sir or marching.

How is your saline allergy which prevents you from going to sea, Honners?

Worse, ever since the M.O. put me on that non-salt diet. It may be necessary for me to leave Bombay because of its close proximity to the ocean.

Honners was not the ideal naval officer, now that he claimed to be medically unfit to go to sea, salute, say sir, march or hear orders. As you may recall from Pook’s Class War, Honners had never bothered to salute superior officers, nor would he address them as sir. Back in 1941 in Cairo, when Honners held the distinction of being the smallest Royal Marine Commando on record, he had been put on a charge for not saluting Brigadier Holt in the street. Brigadier Holt had pulled him up about it.

Come here that man! Why did you fail to salute a superior officer as you passed?

Right arm too short, Honners snapped recklessly.

What the devil do you mean, man, right arm too short?

My right arm won’t reach my ear.

Do you usually salute at your ear, man?

Never. Right arm too short.

Why is your right arm too short?

Floating kidney.

Honners often told officers he suffered from a floating kidney, but usually they were too busy to delve further into his medical history, and passed on none the wiser. Not so with Brigadier Holt. Why do you fail to address me as sir? he demanded.

I’m shorry to shay I shutter from a shlight speech impigiminge.

It sounds more like a mouthful of wet hay to me. Does this slight speech impediment prevent you saying sir?

Makes it imposhible.

As a matter of interest, let me hear you attempt the enunciation of such a long and difficult word as sir.

Thaw.

Most extraordinary! Now supposing you were required to pronounce the word thaw itself?

Phee.

Refrain from spitting on my uniform man! You can already say thaw, so how can thaw possibly be phee? Let me hear you say both words together.

Phaw.

I mean one after the other, idiot!

Phee thaw.

See-saw, Marjorie Daw, eh?

Phee-thaw, Marjorie Foo.

Say Daw, man! Brigadier Holt shouted angrily

That’s what I shaid, Foo.

And call me thaw when you address me!

Phee.

Brigadier Holt was extremely angry with Honners, yet at the same time perplexed by Honners’ poker face and serious manner, as many an officer had been before him. I was Honners’ closest friend but even I seldom knew when he was acting. At the moment I realized that Honner wanted to be put on a charge in order to avoid being posted out East from Egypt, but on the other hand he was already on a charge for not saluting Colonel Tank, his own Colonel. When we had bumped into Brigadier Holt I was actually escorting Honners to the British Military Hospital for Honners to have his right arm X-rayed, as a check on his claim that he was unable to salute Colonel Tank because of a broken elbow.

Is this man in his right mind? Brigadier Holt asked me.

Yes, sir, but he’s had a very rough time in the invasion of Crete. He was blown up and shot at, sir.

By his Commanding Officer?

By the German paratroops, sir.

Is that why his cap has fallen off and his head lolls backwards as if his neck is broken?

He says his cap is too heavy, sir. I dared not tell Brigadier Holt that Honners was looking down his nose at him.

What is such a midget doing in the Royal Marine Commandos?

He thinks they shuffled the cards wrongly at the Admiralty, sir.

Tell me his name, rank and number while I write it down.

Royal Marine the Honourable Lesley Pilkington-Goldberg, C.B., sir. He won’t disclose his number because he says he’s an aristrocrat, not a telephone.

Like everybody else Honners met, Brigadier Holt was visibly impressed. Is he really a Commander of the Bath? he asked.

I think so, sir, though he says it stands for Confined to Barracks.

Is his statement true that he is incapable of saluting?

I believe so, sir. At this very moment I’m escorting him to the British Military Hospital to have his arm X-rayed, sir.

On whose orders?

Colonel Tank’s, sir. He’s been trying to get Honners to salute ever since he joined up, sir. Various M.O’s have treated his arm with massage and embrocation. They’ve even measured it to find out if it’s stunted, sir.

But everything about him is stunted.

He claimed in Crete that his ear is too high, sir. He said he couldn’t reach it even on tiptoe.

In all my thirty years in the service I’ve never encountered such absurdity. Why does he harp on about his ear?

He says he could hear better if he could cup his hand to his ear, sir. That’s what he told Lieutenant Titterton when he failed to obey orders, sir.

Brigadier Holt swung round angrily upon Honners. Are you deaf as well as daft, man?

Beg your pardon? Honners snapped boredly.

I said are you deaf as well as daft, you insolent dwarf?

I’m looking down my nose at you. . . .

The Brigadier was red of face and rapidly losing his temper. Honners’ retroussé nose—his bent vent, as he himself dubbed it— had also turned red, a sure sign that Honners was losing his own temper.

I demand to know if you are deaf, man! Brigadier Holt roared.

I’m shorry to shay I shuffer from a shlight speech impigiminge, sho I shall never hishe to be a Shaff Offisher myshelf.

"To be a what, man?’

A Staff Officer, sir, I interrupted, desperate to stop Honners digging his own grave so recklessly. Because of his aristocratic background his family are extremely keen that he should become a Staff Officer like yourself, sir.

His family must be crazy. He couldn’t rise to become a halfwit.

But sheeing how you yourshelf have shucksheeded givsh me fresh hope, Honners spluttered, blinking his eyes unsmilingly.

Honners was now really in trouble, and there was little I could do to help him, though he often told me that one might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb. I shall shertainly pershue my ambition to become a Shaff Oshiffer deshpite my shlight speech impigiminge, he persisted. Surely they won’t penalize me becosh I have been hardened in battle and shushtained shevere shellshock in the shervish of my shovereign, King Georsh the Fish and Shixsh. . . .

Shut up, you obnoxious little snob! Brigadier Holt shouted in Honners’ face. Consider yourself under close arrest as at this instant!

Conshider myshelf under closhe arresh thish inshant.

Marine Pook, you will escort this man to Colonel Tank immediately, understand? I shall follow close behind.

But, sir, he’s got an appointment to have his arm X-rayed at the hospital. . . . I protested.

If I were not in uniform, Pook, he would need his jaw X- rayed, not his arm. Quick march!

With great respect, sir, Honners is unable to march.

Why not, in heaven’s name?

He claims that service diet has given him rickets, sir, causing one leg to become shorter than the other.

Then let the little malingerer walk as best he can. Quick walk!

Seeing that Brigadier Holt was in no mood to change his mind, I escorted Honners along the pavement. Honners stumped along in the peculiar up-and-down progression of a man with a wooden leg, a gait which had landed him in hospital at Alexandria for the purpose of a medical examination for rickets, plus the scientific measurement of both legs to ascertain whether they were really unequal or not. When I had visited Honners in hospital I was amazed to discover him lying in bed in the Chest Ward, being treated for asthma. He had confided in me that there was such confusion and delay during his admittance, due to the number of troops awaiting beds, that he had merely altered his admittance card. After three weeks in the Chest Ward, Honners returned to barracks, to inform Colonel Tank that the medical officers insisted that his asthma must take priority over his rickets. As the Unit now had to move to Cairo, Colonel Tank was too busy to explore the ramifications of Honners’ medical cards and had dropped the inquiry as to why Honners could not march.

Honners bobbed up and down in front of Brigadier Holt, hands in pockets, saluting none of the officers we passed en route, and I sensed that at any moment Brigadier Holt would fell him from behind with his cane. Using his rank to bypass procedure, the Brigader pushed Honners straight into Colonel Tank’s office, livid beyond telling.

Honners stood in front of Colonel Tank’s desk, breathing with a kind of groan each time he took in air to let Colonel Tank know he suffered from asthma. Colonel Tank sighed wearily at the sight of Honners. All right, so what is the charge this time? he inquired.

This person had the temerity to address me as an insolent dwarf and an obnoxious. . . .

Silence, Honners! Colonel Tank rapped tartly. And why are you emitting that wheezing noise every time you breathe?

I mush remind you that I am shuffering from ashma. . . .

Colonel Tank smote the desk with his fist. Don’t you dare drag in your new disease at a time like this, you persistent little toad! And call me thaw when you address me.

Phee.

Call me sir, curse you.

Call you thaw, cursh me.

And pick up your cap and stand with your head upright like a Royal Marine. Don’t think I don’t know you’re looking down your nose at me. Marine Pook, replace that man’s cap on his head.

When I had done so, Colonel Tank turned apologetically to Brigadier Holt. Let me put you in the picture briefly, Brigadier, he said. An inquiry is at present being held into this man’s medical condition. He has had a particularly rough time in the invasion of Crete by the Germans, with the result that he claims to be unfit for military service. For example, when excited he appears to suffer from a speech impigiminge . . . I mean a speech impediment. . . .

Eshpeshially when I am inshufferably inshulted in the street by Shaff Oshiffers. . . .

Silence, Honners! Now, Brigadier, you and I may suspect him of malingering but in the exacting atmosphere of an official inquiry his claims are exceeding difficult to refute or disprove. . . .

My rights are shtrongly shafeguarded as laid down in King’s Regulashuns and Admiralty Instrucshuns. Honners always threw this truism at Colonel Tank, knowing full well that it took hours just to find the relevant point in that massive tome, let alone interpret it. According to Honners, KR’s and Ack I’s had been expressly drawn up for his benefit.

Until we know the findings of the inquiry I have given Honners permission to address senior officers as thaw instead of sir. I had to withdraw him from square drill owing to his pistonlike gait ruining our marching, what with his rifle bobbing up and down in the ranks and his alleged inability to About Turn without screaming in pain. Moreover, as a result of his left leg being longer that his right, as he claims, he appears to be incapable of marching in a straight line, gradually veering off to the right, thus leaving his Section halfway across the parade-ground. As far as his inability to salute goes, this very afternoon arrangements had been made for his right arm to be X-rayed, in order that his statement re a fractured limb may be checked.

I am anxious to parsh medically fit ash shoon ash poshible sho ash to be conshidered ash a candidate for a Shaff Oshiffer, Honners butted in, just as his cap again dropped from the back of his head. I glared at him, trying to catch his eye that he might desist from further involvement, but as always he persisted in going too far. Unfortunately, enemy action during the invasion of Crete hash reshulted in my shuffering from a shlight speech impigiminge. I shushstained shellshock. . . .

Very good, Honners, Colonel Tank interrupted patiently, we know all about that—but what have you to put forward as a defence in answer to Brigadier Holt’s charge of insolence?"

Do you mean because I failed to addresh him as phee?

I have explained to the Brigadier why you should have addressed him as thaw. Now we want to know why you were insholent to a shenior oshiffer . . . I apologize, Brigadier, I meant senior officer, but lately this man has had the entire Unit talking improperly.

Brigadier Holt snorted. May I ask what steps you are taking to inveshtigate thish man’s speech impigiminge . . . er, speech impediment?

He is being referred to the neurology department of the British Military Hospital just as soon as we have cleared up the question of his legs and arm.

Shum people shay it is imposhible to detect my shlight speech impigiminge until I actually shart to shay shumthing. . . .

Answer my question, Honners, Colonel Tank said wearily. Why were you insolent to a senior officer?

My answer to that question is summed up in the parable of the three lawnmowers. . . .

Stop! Colonel Tank cried. We all know the parable of the three lawnmowers by heart. It has no bearing on this case, and, as I warned you last time, if you dare repeat it again you will be committed to a military prison.

But Brigadier Holt hashn’t heard it, Honners replied indignantly.

And what is more, he isn’t going to hear it. We have listened to it till we are sick to death of lawnmowers.

Then I must request you to discharge me immediately, becosh it is clearly laid down in King’s Regulations and Admiralty instructions that a defendant is entitled to be heard in full. Shall we adjourn for tea while you look up the reference?

Colonel Tank’s eyes went up to the ceiling in a weary grimace. I take your point, Honners. There is no need for me to verify your statement—life is too short—but we shall adjourn for tea nevertheless.

I must explain to new readers that Honners had been a law student before the war, when he seems to have spent most of his studies devising the parable of the three lawnmowers, which, he claimed, could be adapted as a defence against any charge in the book. it could also be used in political and economic debates, in examinations and at interviews for jobs. Honners employed it to good effect during interviews when he eventually obtained a commission in the navy. In the Royal Marines he recited the parable ad nauseum every time he was brought up on a charge. Some officers tried to forbid it, but Honners always threw King’s Regulations and Admiralty Instructions at them, whereby they were required to bend over backwards to give a man a fair trial, causing them to listen in bored silence to the parable they knew so well. Lieutenant Titterton, Honners’ Section Officer, had been known to resort to dismissing the charge against Honners, rather than enter the labyrinth of legal implications and alternatives raised by the parable, once declaring that he refused to have his entire service life taken up by one solitary marine and his wretched charge sheet.

When first you heard the parable of the lawnmowers you thought it a harmless, arrogant piece of nonsense, quite amusing to listen to, though utterly irrelevant to the matter on hand. In fact, Honners sometimes told it as his party piece during mess gatherings or at Christmas festivities, where it could be made very funny indeed. But the parable’s deeper significance did not dawn on you until you were sick to death of it, yet you were forced to see the startling deductions Honners could draw from it. According to his purpose, Honners could deliver it as a humorous party piece, or, at the other end of the scale, as a devastating attack on anything he disliked, such as Communism or Lieutenant Titterton, thrust home with a venom quite frightening to behold.

The version