Simon Called Peter by Robert Keable

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They ran into Caudebec in good time, and lunched at an hotel overlooking
the river, with great enthusiasm. To Peter it was utterly delicious to
have her by him. She was as gay as she could possibly be, and made fun
over everything. Sitting daintily before him, her daring, unconventional
talk carried him away. She chose the wine, and after _dejeuner_ sat with
her elbows on the table, puffing at a cigarette, her brown eyes alight
with mischief, apparently without a thought for to-morrow.

"Oh, I say," she said, "do look at that party in the corner. The old
Major's well away, and the girl'll have a job to keep him in hand, I
wonder where they're from? Rouen, perhaps; there was a car at the door.
What do you think of the girl?"

Peter glanced back. "No better than she ought to be," he said.

"No, I don't suppose so, but they are gay, these French girls. I don't
wonder men like them. And they have a hard time. I'd give them a leg up
any day if I could. I can't, though, so if ever you get a chance do it
for me, will you?"

Peter assented. "Come on," he said. "Finish that glass if you think you
can, and let's get out."

"Here's the best, then, I've done. What are we going to see?"

For a couple of hours they wandered round the old town, with its narrow
streets and even fifteenth-century houses, whose backs actually leaned
over the swift little river that ran all but under the place to the
Seine. They penetrated through an old mill to its back premises, and
climbed precariously round the water-wheel to reach a little moss-grown
platform from which the few remaining massive stones of the Norman wall
and castle could still be seen. The old abbey kept them a good while,
Julie interested Peter enormously as they walked about its cool aisles,
and tried to make out the legends of its ancient glass. She had nothing
of that curious kind of shyness most people have in a church, and that he
would certainly have expected of her. She joked and laughed a little in
it--at a queer row of mutilated statues packed into a kind of chapel to
keep quiet out of the way till wanted, at the vivid red of the Red Sea
engulfing Pharaoh and all his host--but not in the least irreverently. He
recalled a saying of a book he had once read in which a Roman Catholic
priest had defended the homeliness of an Italian congregation by saying
that it was right for them to be at home in their Father's House. It
was almost as if Julie were at home, yet he shrank from the inference.

She was entirely ignorant of everything, except perhaps, of a little
biblical history, but she made a most interested audience. Once he
thought she was perhaps egging him on for his own pleasure, but when he
grew more silent she urged him to explain. "It's ripping going round with
somebody who knows something," she said. "Most of the men one meets know
absolutely nothing. They're very jolly, but one gets tired. I could
listen to you for ages."

Peter assured her that he was almost as ignorant as they, but she was
shrewdly insistent. "You read more, and you understand what you read,"
she said. "Most people don't. I know."

They bought picture post-cards off a queer old woman in a peasant
head-dress, and then came back to the river and sat under the shade of
a line of great trees to wait for the tea the hotel had guaranteed them.
Julie now did all the talking--of South Africa, of gay adventures in
France and on the voyage, and of the men she had met. She was as frank
as possible, but Peter wondered how far he was getting to know the real
girl.

Tea was an unusual success for France. It was real tea, but then there
was reason for that, for Julie had insisted on going into the big
kitchen, to madame's amusement and monsieur's open admiration, and making
it herself. But the chocolate cakes, the white bread and proper butter,
and the cream, were a miracle. Peter wondered if you could get such
things in England now, and Julie gaily told him that the French made laws
only to break them, with several instances thereof. She declared that if
a food-ration officer existed in Caudebec he must be in love with the
landlady's daughter and that she only wished she could get to know such
an official in Havre. The daughter in question waited on them, and Julie
and she chummed up immensely. Finally she was despatched to produce a
collection of Army badges and buttons--scalps Julie called them. When
they came they turned them over. All ranks were represented, or nearly
so, and most regiments that either could remember. There were Canadian,
Australian, and South African badges, and at last Julie declared that
only one was wanting.

"What will you give for this officer's badge?" she demanded, seizing hold
of one of Peter's Maltese crosses.

The girl looked at it curiously. "What is it?" she said.

"It's the badge of the Sacred Legion," said Julie gravely. "You know
Malta? Well, that's part of the British Empire, of course, and the
English used to have a regiment there to defend it from the Turks. It was
a great honour to join, and so it was called the Sacred Legion. This
officer is a Captain in it."

"Shut up Julie," said Peter, _sotto voce_.

But nothing would stop her. "Come now," she said. "What will you give?
You'll give her one for a kiss, won't you, Solomon?"

The girl laughed and blushed "Not before mademoiselle," she said, looking
at Peter.

"Oh, I'm off," cried Julie, "I'll spare you one, but only one, remember."
and she deliberately got up and left them.

Mademoiselle was "tres jolie," said the girl, collecting her badges.
Peter detached a cross and gave it her, and she demurely put up her
mouth. He kissed her lightly, and walked leisurely out to settle the bill
and call the car. He had entirety forgotten his depression, and the world
seemed good to him. He hummed a little song by the water's edge as he
waited, and thought over the day. He could never remember having had such
a one in his life. Then he recollected that one badge was gone, and he
abstracted the other. Without his badges he would not be known as a
chaplain.

When Julie appeared, she made no remark, as he had half-expected. They
got in, and started off back in the cooling evening. Near Tancarville
they stopped the car to have the hood put up, and strolled up into the
grounds of the old castle while they waited.

"Extraordinary it must have been to have lived in a place like this,"
said Peter.

"Rather," said Julie, "and beyond words awful to the women. I cannot
imagine what they must have been like, but I think they must have been
something like native African women."

"Why?" queried Peter.

"Oh, because a native woman never reads and hardly goes five miles from
her village. She is a human animal, who bears children and keeps the
house of her master, that's all. That's what these women must have done."

"The Church produced some different types," said Peter; "but they had no
chance elsewhere, perhaps. Still, I expect they were as happy as we,
perhaps happier."

"And their cows were happier still, I should think," laughed Julie. "No,
you can't persuade me. I wouldn't have been a woman in those days for the
world."

"And now?" asked Peter.

"Rather! We have much the best time on the whole. We can do what we like
pretty well. If we want to be men, we can. We can put on riding-breeches,
even, and run a farm. But if we like, we can wear glad rags and nice
undies, and be more women than ever."

"And in the end thereof?" Peter couldn't help asking.

"Oh," said Julie lightly, "one can settle down and have babies if one
wants to. And sit in a drawing-room and talk scandal as much as one
likes. Not that I shall do either, thank you. I shall--oh, I don't know
what I shall do. Solomon, you are at your worst. Pick me some of those
primroses, and let's be going. You never can tell: we may have to walk
home yet."

Peter plucked a few of the early blooms, and she pushed them into her
waist-belt. Then they went back to the car, and got in again.

"Cold?" he asked, after a little.

"A bit," she said. "Tuck me up, and don't sit in that far corner all the
time. You make me feel chilly to look at you. I hate sentimental people,
but if you tried hard and were nice I could work up quite a lot of
sentiment just now."

He laughed, and tucked her up as required. Then he lit a cigarette and
slipped his arm round her waist. "Is that better?" he said.

"Much. But you can't have had much practice. Now tell me stories."

Peter had a mind to tell her several, but he refrained, and they grew
silent, "Do you think we shall have another day like this?" he demanded,
after a little.

"I don't see why not," she said. "But one never knows, does one? The
chances are we shan't. It's a queer old world."

"Let's try, anyway; I've loved it," he said.

"So have I," said Julie. "It's the best day I've had for a long time,
Peter. You're a nice person to go out with, you know, though I mustn't
flatter you too much. You should develop the gift; it's not everyone that
has it."

"I've no wish to," he said.

"You are an old bear," she laughed; "but you don't mean all you say, or
rather you do, for you will say what you mean. You shouldn't, Peter. It's
not done nowadays, and it gives one away. If you were like me, now, you
could say and do anything and nobody would mind. They'd never know what
you meant, and of course all the time you'd mean nothing."

"So you mean nothing all the time?" he queried.

"Of course," she said merrily. "What do you think?"

That jarred Peter a little, so he said nothing and silence fell on them,
and at the Hotel de Ville in the city he asked if she would mind
finishing alone.

"Not a bit, old thing, if you want to go anywhere," she said.

He apologised. "Arnold--he's our padre--is likely to be at the club, and
I promised I'd walk home with him," he lied remorselessly. "It's beastly
rude, I know, but I thought you'd understand."

She looked at him, and laughed. "I believe I do," she said.

He stopped the car and got out, settling with the man, and glancing up at
a clock. "You'll be in at nine-forty-five," he said, "as proper as
possible. And thank you so much for coming."

"Thank you, Solomon," she replied. "It's been just topping. Thanks
awfully for taking me. And come in to tea soon, won't you?" He promised
and held out his hand. She pressed it, and waved out of the window as the
car drove off. And no sooner was it in motion than he cursed himself for
a fool. Yet he knew why he had done as he had, there, in the middle of
the town. He knew that he feared she would kiss him again--as before.

Not noticing where he went, he set off through the streets, making,
unconsciously almost, for the sea, and the dark boulevards that led from
the gaily lit centre of the city towards it. He walked slowly, his mind a
chaos of thoughts, and so ran into a curious adventure.

As he passed a side-street he heard a man's uneven steps on the pavement,
a girl's voice, a curse, and the sound of a fall. Then followed an
exclamation in another woman's voice, and a quick sentence in French.

Peter hesitated a minute, and then turned down the road to where a small
group was faintly visible. As he reached it, he saw that a couple of
street girls were bending over a man who lay sprawling on the ground, and
he quickened his steps to a run. His boots were rubber-soled, and all but
noiseless. "Here, I say," he said as he came up. "Let that man alone.
What are you doing?" he added in halting French. One of the two girls
gave a little scream, but the other straightened herself, and Peter
perceived that he knew her. It was Louise, of Travalini's.

"What are you doing?" he demanded again in English. "Is he hurt?"

"Non, non, monsieur," said Louise. "He is but 'zig-zag.' We found him a
little way down the street, and he cannot walk easily. So we help him. If
the gendarme--how do you call him?--the red-cap, see him, maybe he will
get into trouble. But now you come. You will doubtless help him.
Vraiment, he is in luck. We go now, monsieur."

Peter bent over the fallen man. He did not know him, but saw he was a
subaltern, though a middle-aged man. The fellow was very drunk, and did
little else than stutter curses in which the name of our Lord was
frequent.

Peter pulled at his arm, and Louise stooped to help him. Once up, he got
his arm round him, and demanded where he lived.

The man stared at them foolishly. Peter gave him a bit of a shake, and
demanded the address again, "Come on," he said. "Pull yourself together,
for the Lord's sake. We shall end before the A.P.M. if you don't. What's
your camp, you fool?"

At that the man told him, stammeringly, and Peter sighed his relief.
"I know," he said to Louise. "It's not far. I'll maybe get a taxi at the
corner." She pushed him towards a doorway: "Wait a minute," she said.
"I live here; it's all right. I will get a fiacre. I know where to find
one."

She darted away. It seemed long to Peter, but in a few minutes a horn
tooted and a cab came round the corner. Between them, they got the
subaltern in, and Peter gave the address. Then he pulled out his purse
before stepping in himself, opened it, found a ten-franc note, and
offered it to Louise.

The girl of the street and the tavern pushed it away. "La!" she
exclaimed. "Vite! Get in. Bon Dieu! Should I be paid for a kindness? Poor
boy! he does not know what he does. He will 'ave a head--ah! terrible--in
the morning. And see, he has fought for la patrie." She pointed to a gold
wound-stripe on his arm. "Bon soir, monsieur."

She stepped back and spoke quickly to the driver, who was watching
sardonically. He nodded. "Bon soir, monsieur," she said again, and
disappeared in the doorway.

CHAPTER IX

A few weeks later the War Office--if it was the War Office, but one gets
into the habit of attributing these things to the War Office--had one of
its regular spasms. It woke up suddenly with a touch of nightmare, and it
got fearfully busy for a few weeks before going to sleep again. All
manner of innocent people were dragged into the vortex of its activities,
and blameless lives were disturbed and terrorised. This particular
enthusiasm involved even such placid and contented souls as the
Chaplain-General, the Principal Chaplain, their entire staffs and a great
many of their rank and file. It created a new department, acquired many
additional offices for the B.E.F., dragged from their comfortable billets
a certain number of high-principled base officers, and then (by the mercy
of Providence) flickered out almost as soon as the said officers bad made
themselves a little more comfortable than before in their new posts.

It was so widespread a disturbance that even Peter Graham, most harmless
of men, with plenty of his own fish to fry, was dragged into it, as some
leaf, floating placidly downstream, may be caught and whirled away in an
excited eddy. More definitely, it removed him from Havre and Julie just
when he was beginning to want most definitely to stay there, and of
course, when it happened, he could hardly know that it was to be but a
temporary separation.

He was summoned, then, one fine morning, to his A.C.G.'s office in town,
and he departed on a bicycle, turning over in his mind such indiscretions
of which he had been guilty and wondering which of them was about to trip
him. Pennell had been confident, indeed, and particular.

"You're for it, old bean," he had said. "There's a limit to the patience
even of the Church. They are going to say that there is no need for you
to visit hospitals after dark, and that their padres mustn't be seen out
with nurses who smoke in public. And all power to their elbow, I say."

Peter's reply was certainly not in the Prayer-Book, and would probably
have scandalised its compilers, but he thought, secretly, that there
might be something in what his friend said. Consequently he rode his
bicycle carelessly, and was indifferent to tram-lines and some six inches
of nice sticky mud on parts of the _pave_. In the ordinary course,
therefore, these things revenged themselves upon him. He came off neatly
and conveniently opposite a small _cafe debit_ at a turn in the dock
road, and the mud prevented the _pave_ from seriously hurting him.

A Frenchman, minding the cross-lines, picked him up, and he, madame,
her assistant, and a customer, carried him into the kitchen off the
bar and washed and dried him. The least he could do was a glass of
French beer all round, with a franc to the dock labourer who straightened
his handle-bars and tucked in a loose spoke, and for all this the War
Office--if it was the War Office, for it may, quite possibly, have been
Lord Northcliffe or Mr. Bottomley, or some other controller of our
national life--was directly responsible. When one thinks that in a
hundred places just such disturbances were in progress in ten times as
many innocent lives, one is appalled at their effrontery. They ought to
eat and drink more carefully, or take liver pills.

However, in due time Peter sailed up to the office of his immediate chief
but little the worse for wear, and was ushered in. He was prepared for a
solitary interview, but he found a council of some two dozen persons, who
included an itinerant Bishop, an Oxford Professor, a few Y.M.C.A. ladies,
and--triumph of the A.C.G.--a Labour member. Peter could not conceive
that so great a weight of intellect could be involved in his affairs, and
took comfort. He seated himself on a wooden chair, and put on his most
intelligent appearance; and if it was slightly marred by a mud streak
at the back of his ear, overlooked by madame's kindly assistant who had
attended to that side of him, he was not really to blame. Again, it was
the fault of Lord Northcliffe or--or any of the rest of them.

It transpired that he was slightly late: the Bishop had been speaking. He
was a good Bishop and eloquent, and, as the A.C.G. who now rose to take
the matter in hand remarked, he had struck the right note. In all
probability it was due to Peter's having missed that note that he was so
critical of the scheme. The note would have toned him up. He would have
felt a more generous sympathy for the lads in the field, and would have
been more definitely convinced that something must be done. If not
plainly stated in the Holy Scriptures, his lordship had at least found it
indicated there, but Peter was not aware of this. He only observed that
the note had made everyone solemn and intense except the Labour member.
That gentleman, indeed, interrupted the A.C.G. before he was fairly on
his legs with the remark: "Beggin' your pardon, sir, but as this is an
informal conference, does anyone mind if I smoke?"...

Peter's A.C.G. was anything but a fool, and the nightmare from
Headquarters had genuinely communicated itself to him. He felt all he
said, and he said it ably. He lacked only in one regard: he had never
been down among the multitude. He knew exactly what would have to have
been in his own mind for him to act as he believed some of them were
acting, and he knew exactly how he would, in so deplorable a condition of
affairs, have set about remedying it. These things, then, he stated
boldly and clearly. As he proceeded, the Y.M.C.A. ladies got out
notebooks, the Professor allowed himself occasional applause, and the
Labour member lit another pipe.

It appeared that there was extreme unrest and agitation among the troops,
or at least a section of the troops, for no one could say that the armies
in the field were not magnificent. They had got to remember that the
Tommy of to-day was not as the Tommy of yesterday--not that he suffered
by comparison, but that he was far better educated and far more inclined
to think for himself. They were well aware that a little knowledge was a
dangerous thing, or, again, as his friend the Bishop would have doubtless
put it, how great a matter a little fire kindleth. There was no escaping
it: foreign propaganda, certain undesirable books and papers--books and
papers, he need hardly say, outside the control of the reputable
Press--and even Socialistic agitators, were abroad in the Army. He did
not wish to say too much; it was enough to remind them of what, possibly,
they already knew, that certain depots on certain occasions had refused
to sing the National Anthem, and were not content with their wages.
Insignificant as these things might be in detail, G.H.Q. had felt there
was justifiable cause for alarm. This meeting had gathered to consider
plans for a remedy.

Now he thanked God that they were not Prussians. There must be no attempt
at coercion. A war for liberty must be won by free people. One had, of
course, to have discipline in the Army, but theirs was to-day a citizen
Army. His friend who had left his parliamentary duties to visit France
might rest assured that the organizations represented there that morning
would not forget that. In a word, Tommy had a vote, and he was entitled
to it, and should keep it. One day he should even use it; and although no
one could wish to change horses crossing a stream, still, they hoped that
day would speedily come--the day of peace and victory.

But meantime, what was to be done? As the Bishop had rightly said,
something must be done. Resolute on this point, H.Q. had called in the
C.G. and the P.C. and, he believed, expert opinion on both sides the
House of Commons; and the general opinion agreed upon was that Tommy
should be educated to vote correctly when the time came, and to wait
peacefully for that time. The Professor could tell them of schemes even
now in process of formation at home in order that the land they loved
might be cleaner, sweeter, better and happier, in the days to come. But
Tommy, meantime, did not know of these things. He was apparently under
the delusion that he must work out his own salvation, whereas, in point
of fact, it was being worked out for him scientifically and religiously.
If these things were clearly laid before him, H.Q. was convinced that
agitation, dissatisfaction, and even revolution--for there were those who
thought they were actually trending in that direction--would be nipped in
the bud.

The scheme was simple and far-reaching. Lectures would be given all over
the areas occupied by British troops. Every base would be organised in
such a way that such lectures and even detailed courses of study should
be available for everyone. Every chaplain, hutworker, and social
entertainer must do his or her bit. They must know how to speak wisely
and well--not all in public, but, everyone as the occasion offered,
privately, in hut or camp, to inquiring and dissatisfied Tommies. They
would doubtless feel themselves insufficient for these things, but
study-circles were to be formed and literature obtained which would
completely furnish them with information. He would conclude by merely
laying on the table a bundle of the splendid papers and tracts already
prepared for this work. The Professor would now outline what was being
attempted at home, and then the meeting would be open for discussion.

The Professor was given half an hour, and he made an excellent speech for
a cornered and academic theorist. The first ten minutes he devoted to
explaining that he could not explain in the time; in the second,
tempering the wind to the shorn lamb, he pointed out that it was no use
his outlining schemes not yet completed, or that they could read for
themselves, or that, possibly, without some groundwork, they could not
understand; and in the third ten minutes he outlined the committees
dealing with the work and containing such well-known names as Robert
Smiley, Mr. Button, and Clydens. He sat down. Everyone applauded--the
M.P., and possibly the A.C.G., because they honestly knew and respected
these gentlemen, and the rest because they felt they ought to do so. The
meeting was then opened for discussion.

Peter took no part in what followed, and, indeed, nothing
over-illuminating was said save one remark, cast upon the waters by the
Labour member, which was destined to be found after many days. They were
talking of the lectures, and one of the ladies (Peter understood a Girton
lecturer) was apparently eager to begin without delay. The M.P. begged to
ask a question: Were there to be questions and a discussion?

The A.C.G. glanced at a paper before him, and rose. He apologised for
omitting to mention it before, but H.Q. thought it would be subverse of
all discipline if, let us say, privates should be allowed to get up and
argue with the officers who might have addressed them. They all knew
what might be said in the heat of argument. Also, if he might venture to
say so, some of their lecturers, though primed with the right lecture,
might not be such experts that they could answer every question, and
plainly failure to satisfy a questioner might be disastrous. But
questions could be written and replies given at the next lecture. He
thought, smiling, that some of them would perhaps find that convenient.

The M.P. leaned back in his chair. "Well, sir," he said, "I'm sorry to be
a wet-blanket, but if that is so, the scheme is wrecked from the start.
You don't know the men; I do. They're not going to line up, like the
pupils of Dotheboys Academy, for a spoonful of brimstone and treacle."

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