Tunes of Glory. James Kennaway

was keen to tell what had happened next. Douglas Jackson was something of a hero for what he had said next. At the end of a long, hostile silence he had spoken clearly. Dusty Millar was anxious that Jock should not miss this.

      ‘Come on, Douglas, what did you say?’

      Lieutenant Jackson had a deep voice to match his Prussian head. ‘I can’t remember my words. I said I understood his visit to the Mess that first night was quite unofficial. That’s the only time he’s seen us dance.’

      ‘Aye, that was it, that was it,’ Dusty said, enjoying the moment again.

      Jock nodded. ‘A-huh. And what did he say to that?’

      ‘It was unofficial. That was all he said. But he was pretty angry.’

      The doctor grinned and sidled. ‘Douglas is a marked man now.’

      Jock raised his eyebrows and he walked about, while they waited. ‘Well, well. I’ve always said some of the children could do with a dancing class.’

      ‘Och, heck,’ Rattray said, flaming up. ‘It’s no dancing like that we should be taught. We’re not a lot of playboys.’

      Jock opened his eyes wide. ‘No.’ He ran his tongue round his cheek. ‘No, we’re not that.’ Charlie knew the mood well: he knew how much Jock was enjoying himself. He knew the technique, and Charlie knew even before Jock turned that he would walk away and touch one of the chairs with the tips of his fingers.

      ‘You notice he did it when you were out,’ someone said.

      ‘Maybe that was tact.’ He spread out his hands. ‘Gents, we’re no wanting any mutinies in this Battalion. We’ll leave that to the Navy.’ Jock wagged his head. ‘I think he’s been very reasonable.’

      Jimmy nodded. ‘Of course he has.’

      ‘Hell, this is the first thing he’s done,’ somebody said.

      Jimmy smiled and tried again. ‘There’s bound to be some changes.’

      ‘No one’s denying that, Jimmy,’ Alec Rattray said. ‘But this is something different. The way we dance is our own business, isn’t it? I’m no sure he’s a Scotsman at all.’

      ‘Aye,’ they agreed.

      ‘Dancing’s off parade; and off parade’s off parade.’

      Macmillan suggested lightly, ‘We do get a little rowdy.’

      ‘Rowdy?’ Jock turned on him. ‘A-huh. You agree with the Colonel?’

      ‘I’m not sure it was his business to …’

      ‘You agree though: you agree?’

      ‘By and large.’

      ‘Aye,’ Jock nodded. ‘By and large. There you are then. It’s what the doctor would call a difference of opinion, or emphasis or whatever the word is, down in Oxford. That’s the way of it: so we best say no more about it. We don’t want to be rent with schisms asunder. Do we?’

      Jimmy had to leave then, and the others shifted places. They were not altogether satisfied, but had they known Jock as well as Charlie did, they would have realised that he had not finished. He was talking in his softest voice.

      ‘It’s always difficult, a change-over. It’s as Jimmy says. Mind you, it seems a pity that he should choose the dancing. What time was this parade to be?’

      Five or six voices replied: ‘0715.’

      ‘Aye; and for the subalterns?’

      A shout of ‘No.’

      ‘Oh, captains as well? … All officers? It’s all officers, is it?’

      ‘Aye, it is. That’s what he said. Have you ever heard such bloody nonsense? Some of us have been dancing thirty years,’ Dusty said hotly.

      ‘Jock, we know you’re in a difficult position …’

      ‘I am: I am.’ He shook his head seriously at that, but they gathered closer.

      Rattray warmed to the subject: ‘But this is different. It is. It’s a blow at our independence. The likes of this has never been before.’

      ‘Never.’

      ‘And anyway he’s wrong about the hands in the eightsome. Of course he is. I question if he knows …’

      Jock grew reticent, and modest. He scratched his head and blew out his cheeks. He was in a tricky position. But no one would say that Jock let them down. He would see to that. They spoke more freely. They repeated some of the Colonel’s more irrelevant questions, and it was the first time that Jock had allowed himself the luxury of listening. Every criticism of Barrow was for him another flattery. But he did not seem to lead them on: indeed, he protested that they should not make it difficult for him. Even the doctor was bewildered by his display, and it was generally supposed in the Mess that a knowledge of physiology gave the doctor an insight into human motive and character beyond his fellow officers.

      ‘Aye,’ Jock said thoughtfully. ‘Off parade’s off parade, right enough.’

      Many of the officers had to leave before the end, but the cronies stayed and half an hour later they were winking at each other. Jock had been like a lamb since the first night the Colonel arrived. He had done just what Morag had advised him, and he had kept clear of the Mess. But now he kept tapping his fingers on a knee that was scarred with battle wounds.

      SIX