Reputation - Chapter 2: By Douglas Mitchell.

Chapter 2

When they arrived in Boulogne it was as it had been in Folkestone – thousands of troops being herded hither and thither, with shouting Sergeants and Military Police shoving and kicking any that were too slow. The troops were all being driven like cattle towards the rail head, and Brown sought out a small group of more senior officers who were standing aloof from the chaos. McGill trailed after him carrying Brown’s suitcases and his own holdall. “ I’m looking for  Major Heart of the Provost Marshal’s office, ”  announced Brown. One of the officers looked at him.  “You’ll be the detective from Scotland Yard” he said, contempt in his voice. “ I am. And this is my sergeant, Detective McGill.” The officer glanced at McGill, dismissing him instantly. “ SERGEANT!” A ram rod straight giant of a man materialised behind Brown. “ Sah!” “ Take these detectives to the Provost Marshall’s office.” McGill thought he made “detectives” sound like something horrible at the bottom of a cesspit. The giant saluted, then whirled round and marched off at an angle. Brown and McGill followed as he carved a way through the milling crowds, and out into the cold night. Outside he turned sharp right and headed for a building which looked like a small railway station. There were red-capped guards on the door, and the sergeant stamped to a halt in front of them. “ Two detectives for Major Heart!” So saying he swung round again with a clatter and scrape of hobnail boots and marched back the way he had come. One of the redcaps was already holding his hand out for Brown’s papers. “You’re the ones from the Yard then?” he said. 

Brown nodded. “I’ll tell Major ‘eart you’re ‘ere.” He turned towards the door. The other man never moved, though McGill could see his eyes were looking them up and down. The door opened again and an immaculately turned out Major, complete with waxed moustache and swagger stick, stood on the threshold. He proffered his hand. “I’m Heart, and you’ll be Brown. And this is..?” Brown took the hand and shook it. “This is my sergeant, McGill” “ You better come in. Have you eaten?” “ Not since lunchtime.” “Very good.SERGEANT!” “Yessir”  “ Cut along to the canteen and get a couple of sandwiches, then brew us up one when you get back” “Yessir” “ And don’t dawdle’” “ Yessir” Heart ushered them through an outer office where two extremely large redcaps where sitting either side of a wretch who looked half dead and half drowned as well. McGill looked at him. Heart saw the glance, and smiled crookedly. “ I wouldn’t worry about him, sergeant. He tried to desert and my lads had to restrain him.” McGill thought a mouse could have done it, but clearly the redcaps had had other ideas. “ What’ll happen to him?” asked Brown. Heart smiled again. “ Sadly flogging isn’t allowed anymore and we can’t charge him with cowardice in the face of the enemy as it happened here in Boulogne. He’ll get 90 days number one field punishment. And I daresay he’ll either attempt to escape again or attack one of my men, so he’ll get another beating – or two” McGill grimaced. “ Wellington had it right – they are the scum of the earth, “ said Heart as he sat down behind his desk. “ Shut the door sergeant.” McGill obeyed and sat on the chair farthest from the desk. “ Well now, you’ve read our reports?” “ We have, “ said Brown.” Looks as if you’ve done a very thorough job “ Heart smiled again “ so I’ll just have my sergeant 

speak to the people mentioned in the report, and that should wrap it up”. Heart’s smile broadened. He reached for some headed paper and began to write. “This is for my opposite number in Etaples, Major Wylie. You have to go through there to be cleared for the front. Strictly speaking Amiens is about 25 miles from where the real fighting is but it’s still in the reserve area. Once you’ve seen Wylie he’ll organise the transport to Amiens and hand you over to Colonel Berry and his aide, Major Watkins in Amiens. Anything else you need, they can arrange. I understand the General OC in the sector wants to see you. Wylie will tell you when you are wanted.” “ Thank you, “ said Brown. “ I’ll be going to Amiens, but I’ve arranged to see some friends round about. But McGill, here, will be doing whatever is needed.” Heart looked at McGill and raised his eyebrows. Brown caught the glance. “ He’s perfectly sound, and he has my instructions. As I said, we shan’t be taking too long, we’ll just confirm what is already known.” Heart seemed mollified, and addressed McGill. “ You know there are no leads of any description? God knows why HQ  are going on about this – it’s perfectly clear no one is ever going to be caught. We don’t even know who he was or what he was doing there. One body more or less isn’t going to make a blind bit of difference.” McGill nodded. With that attitude, there was little to say. There was a knock on the door, and a soldier appeared with a tray of doorstep sandwiches and three steaming mugs of tea. Heart passed them round, and helped himself to one of the sandwiches. “ In case you’re worried, this tea is perfectly ordinary. It doesn’t have any of the bromide in it we give to the troops.” McGill had no idea what Heart was talking about, but Brown just nodded, and grunted as he bit into the corned beef. Heart looked at his watch. “ You’ve about 20 minutes until the next train. It shouldn’t take more than an hour or so to get to Etaples. But it’ll depend on the movements at that end how much longer it’ll take to get into the unloading area. Wylie has a couple of billets for 

you and he’ll pass you on as soon as there’s space. Here are your movement passes.” Brown reached across and took them. “ And don’t forget the number one rule of being out here. Keep your head down and sleep whenever you can – you never know when the next chance will be.” So saying he stood up and reached his hand across to Brown again.     “ SERGEANT!”  “ Sir!” “ Take these two to the next train and see they are settled, then report back here.” “Yessir” Brown shook Heart’s hand and turned to follow the sergeant. McGill picked up the bags and followed. He noticed Heart never even looked at him. It’s as well seeing there are sergeants, thought McGill. Nothing would ever get done otherwise. By the time the sergeant had pushed and shoved the two detectives onto a train, McGill’s senses were swamped with noise and the smell of rank bodies. He felt lots of eyes on them in their civvy clothes as everyone else was in uniform. The train ground slowly along the rails with dozens of trains going in the opposite direction, and at a bend, McGill looked out of the window to see trains following and in front of them. They stopped a couple of times for no apparent reason, then juddered into motion again. Nearly two hours later they were passing the sea on their right, and a wan ray of moonlight pierced the gloom. McGill was suddenly aware of a murmuring and rumbling about him, which grew louder. With a final, exhausted whistle the train pulled into a siding, and the shouting started. Carriage doors were flung open and obscenities shouted into compartments. Grumbling slack-eyed men gathered up their kit and part fell, part stumbled out into the chill, dank night. McGill and Brown had been in an officer’s carriage, and the door was opened by a redcap Major, who climbed into the compartment.  “ Inspector Brown?” Brown nodded. “I’m Brown” “ Major Wylie. Welcome to Etaples!” Brown and Wylie shook hands. “ Where’s your luggage?” Brown pointed to it on the string luggage racks. 

“ Corporal Aitket! Take charge of those suitcases!”  A smartly dressed corporal climbed into the compartment. None of the other officers who had shared the journey had moved a muscle. McGill darted glances at them. They were all afraid, not just of the redcaps but of the war. They sat where they were hoping a few extra minutes of safety might be had. Wylie and Brown dropped out of the carriage, followed by the corporal and McGill. Wylie turned to him. “ And who are you?” Bloody hell thought McGill, those bastards in Boulogne never even mentioned me. And Brown didn’t bother to either. “ I’m…” “ He’s my sergeant,” Brown cut in. Wylie eyed him. “ Ah. I see” He turned on his heels and marched off, swagger stick perfectly positioned under his oxter. The others followed. As in Folkestone and Boulogne, the noise was overpowering with shouts, the noise of trains and their whistles, and the noise of marching men. McGill, who had been stunned by the seething mass of men before, was even more overwhelmed. The brutality and endless swearing made him ask the corporal as they walked along –“ Is it always like this?” “ Twenty four hours a day mate. We takes the new boys in and trains them up. Then we sends them to the front, where they get shot. If they’re the lucky ones, they come back ‘ere to get patched up” McGill heard the bitterness in Aitket’s voice. “ It can’t be as bad as that, is it?” Aitket stopped abruptly and looked McGill full in the face. “ You don’t know the ‘alf of it. We’ve only just finished sortin’ a bloody mutiny ‘ere. ‘ad to shoot some poor sod just a couple of weeks ago. And there’s those as prefer going back to the front before they’re properly fit, rather than stay ‘ere” So saying he marched on, leaving McGill to catch up. They walked for about ten minutes, gradually leaving most of the noise behind, and finally came to barbed wire and sentries. Wylie simply touched his swagger stick to his cap when challenged and the sentries snapped to attention. Once inside the compound, McGill 

could make out a guardroom, and leading away behind it a series of what looked like beach huts. More sentries saluted as Wylie walked up the steps. Inside some redcaps were having cups of tea, but leapt to attention as the small group entered. “ Stand easy”, said Wylie as he crossed to a shut door, knocked, then entered without waiting for an answer. Inside, a tall, thin man was sitting with his feet on a desk, a curl of smoke drifting lazily up from the cigarette he held in his right hand. He was staring at the ceiling. “ These are the Scotland Yard detectives, sir” said Wylie, as he threw a dilatory salute. Makes us sound like pig shit thought McGill. The man behind the desk never moved, and the party stood awkwardly. Slowly the man’s right arm bent, and the cigarette came to his lips. He languidly sucked for a moment then moved his arm slowly back down again. He never took his eyes from the ceiling. “ You deal with it Wylie” “ Yes sir, of course sir” So saying Wylie indicated the others should retreat out into the main area. He shut the door, pointed towards another, and led the way into the room behind. He took off his cap and sat behind the desk. “ Corporal, have you organised sleeping quarters for our guests?” “Yessir.” “ Good. Show them where and what the drill is. We’ll meet in the morning say oh nine hundred -9o’clock?” This last was addressed to Brown, who nodded. Aitket ushered Brown and McGill out of the guard room again and towards the chalets. He stopped at the first one, opened the door, and put the cases inside. “ An orderly will bring you some ‘ot water at oh six thirty hours, breakfast is in the mess the other side of the guard room, and the latrines is out the back door.” So saying he saluted and backed out, indicating Brown should enter. With an inclination of his head, he made McGill follow him further down the line of huts. He repeated the process, and made to leave. McGill put a hand on his arm. “ Stay a minute, chum. Who was the bloke in that room?” Aitket glanced at McGill. 

“ That’s our CO, Colonel Shimpling. Got ‘iself bombed behind the lines at the Somme – never been the same since. ‘e were only a Major then, so they promoted ‘im and gave ‘im Wylie to keep things running smooth, like. Wylie keeps putting in for a transfer, ‘cos he knows ‘e’ll never get any further up the ladder where ‘e is. They ain’t ‘avin’ it though. Wylie’s stuck ‘ere and no mistake. Shimpling ent goin’ nowhere, neither. Makes ‘em both bloody minded” McGill dropped his hand and Aitket looked at him angrily. Then he lowered his eyes and turned away once more. “ Yea well, likely see yer tomorrow. Don’t forget, ‘ot water oh six thirty.” So saying he shut the door behind him, leaving McGill to ponder on how good men could never rise beyond their station. McGill looked around the dingy room. There was a camp bed, a dressing table with a wash bowl on it, a chair and a bedside table. A skimpy towel hung on the back of the chair. There was no fire or heater. A couple of blankets lay folded on the end of the bed and something he supposed was a pillow. Sighing, McGill decided to stay in his clothes. He lay down on the bed, took off his boots and pulled the blankets over himself. He started to say a quick prayer but fell asleep before he could finish. He awoke with a start at a loud rapping on the door and a bellow – “Hot water, Sir!” – made him realise he’d slept without a break all night through. It was the first decent night’s sleep he’d had in a month. He staggered over to the door and yanked it open. A cold blast of air reminded him he had no shoes on. There stood Aitket holding a steaming urn with a towel and a bar of soap. Drowsily, McGill took the items and Aitket stamped off. As he shaved and changed his shirt, McGill reflected on the sudden night’s sleep. It couldn’t be the change of air, he decided. It must be that he was more settled within himself. Instead of mounds of paperwork and being talked-down to by toffee-nosed inspectors who were always swanning off, he was effectively in charge of this investigation. Brown wasn’t going to be around, so McGill felt he was going to be able to conduct it the way he wanted to. For the first time in months he was looking forward to his day. He smiled at himself in the mirror, and thought things could be worse

McGill walked through the cold air back the way he had come in the early hours of the morning. Lights were blazing in the guard room and there were two new smartly turned out redcaps on the door. Their eyes followed him as he sauntered past, slightly exaggerating the casual stroll, something he was able and allowed to do but they were not. He grinned to himself, and thought for the second time that perhaps not being in the army wasn’t so bad after all.  Beyond the guardroom he found the mess, and joined the end of the queue, picking up an enamel plate as he shuffled nearer the food. There was no choice – it was a hunk of bread, fried eggs and bacon, with a steaming mug of tea. He looked round for a place to sit and saw Brown waving to him. He was at a table with a dozen soldiers, all redcaps, and was already smoking. He looked as if he had not slept. McGill sat down opposite him. “ Did you sleep?” asked Brown. “ Yes, sir, very well thank you.” “ Hmmpf! Never had a worse night – dreadful camp bed and freezing cold!” He paused. “ I’m not sure what we’re supposed to do until 9o’clock, so I’m going to take a turn around the camp.” So saying he rose and made for the door. McGill preferred his own company anyway, so that was no hardship. He’d take a turn himself after his breakfast. As he started tucking in, one of the sergeants further down the table spoke to him. “ You’re one of them Scotland Yard characters.” It was a flat statement, not a question. “ Yes I am” “ Think you’ll find out more than us, do you?” McGill paused the fork on it’s way to his mouth, then finished the action and started chewing. He said nothing for a moment or two. There was no point making enemies. “ I shouldn’t think so, no. From what I’ve seen so far it looks like somebody did a pretty thorough job”. There was a palpable lessening of tension round the table. McGill tore a bit of bread from his chunk, and dipped it into one of his eggs. Thorough job my arse, he thought. 

“ It certainly seems all very mysterious,” he added. The sergeant glanced across at one of the other redcaps, then back at McGill. “ We think it was some Frenchie who was trying to rob him when he was drunk. Maybe he came to and the Frenchie offed him.” McGill nodded.”Yes that could be it. Mind you, stealing a uniform isn’t exactly  worth being hanged for.” “Maybe he had money in it.”  McGill shook his head. “If that was the motive, he’d have simply taken the money. Why take the uniform ? Anyway, what makes everyone think he HAD a uniform?” The sergeant blinked. “ Stands to reason. Who else could it be but a soldier?” “ Well, it might even be a Frenchman,” said McGill innocently, forking a piece of bacon, and carefully using his knife to put a few dabs of egg yolk onto it.”… or a journalist..” The sergeant leant back in his chair.” Nah, can’t see it meself.” McGill shrugged.” Doesn’t hurt to keep an open mind though. At least until there are some positive facts to go on.” “ Ah, now that’s a point. There are no facts other than there being a strangled naked man in an empty house.” “ My point exactly,” said McGill as he finished his plate and took a swig of tea. “ We’ll have to see if any turn up. But you’d have to ask why no clothes. It can only be to hamper identification.” So saying, he downed the last of his tea, pushed back from the table, picked up his now empty plate, and headed for the serving area. He put his plate onto a pile of other dirty dishes, and looked back at the table. The sergeant was still looking at him. If I didn’t know better, McGill thought, I’d say he was a suspect. He made his way out of the mess and started walking back towards the entrance to the redcap’s compound. He spoke with one of the guards and said he was going for a short walk. The guard looked at him suspiciously, as if doing such a thing was tantamount to blasphemy, but nodded and waived him through. The one thing everybody seems to know, thought McGill, is who we are and what we are here for. No one had asked him for any form of 

identification at any point, yet simply allowed him to wander about. The antipathy was like a solid wall. He turned left out of the compound. To his right he could see wooden shacks with red crosses on them. To his left the train sidings were already heaving with jostling, pushing troops. On the other side of the tracks were more substantial buildings which he decided must be the HQ block, judging by the cars, guards and the odd red tab. He came to a cross roads. He could see the river and the bridge which led across to Le Touquet. That was out of bounds to most, apart from officers. To the left, the town of Etaples stretched along the river, exhausted by the continual beating it took from the tens of thousands of troops that used it to try to forget. McGill shuddered slightly. He was definitely going off the idea of being a fighting man. To his right he spied a number of white and blue figures flitting along. Nurses! He turned towards them. McGill had been sweet on a nurse once. Abigail. After his parents died and he settled in to his family house as master, he had wanted to bring her to be mistress. But McGill’s life always seemed to interfere with their plans and eventually Abigail told him she was engaged to another. He hadn’t tried hard enough, but he had tried with another girl. Abigail stuck in his mind though and he found himself comparing his new girl to her all the time. Now he felt that he was too set in his ways to ever find domestic happiness. As he walked towards them, their cheery chatter drifted across the open space. McGill stopped and listened. He hadn’t heard anything as carefree in years. In London, people walked around with their heads down and grave expressions on their faces. The whores he used to come across on his beat in the East End were cheerful enough, but with an underlying hard, exhausted sadness to them. Not cheery as these girls were. McGill couldn’t think why they seemed so happy. He started walking slowly towards them again. As he got closer, one or two glanced towards him, their eyes taking in his size and smooth complexion. As he drew level with the door of the hut, an older more substantial woman emerged. “ Yes? And what do YOU want?” McGill raised his hat. “ Good morning, Matron. I’m only stretching my legs after travelling yesterday.” 

“ Hmpf! Well keep away from my nurses. They’ve enough on their plates without being bothered by the likes of you!” As she turned to go back inside, McGill ventured “ They seem so carefree”. The Matron whirled back to him, hands on hips, face blazing. “ And what exactly makes you think that? Just because they are seemingly happy doesn’t mean they are!” “ No, I suppose not – sorry Matron. It’s just – you know – with all the wounded and so on, how do they manage to be cheery?” The Matron glared at him.  “ They have to be or they would cry. These girls have seen things no man ever should. Just you remember that, Mr. Smarmy pants, and leave them alone!” So saying she spun on her heels and went inside. McGill doffed his hat again to her back, and with a “ And a good day to you, too, Matron”, he continued his walk. The sky looked as if it had been punched leaving heavy bruises. McGill had always thought the weather in France would be better than in London, but looking at the clouds he felt sure there was little to choose between the two places. Well, between London and Northern France anyway. He’d heard the south of France where the toffs went in the winter was like a Shangri-La. Looking up, he sighed. This was more like living in Wales than Shangri- La. He and Brown had been sent there recently on a case. Miserable place and miserable people. No one would even talk to them, until McGill befriended the local trollop, another outsider. It was only through what she knew of the community that they’d been able to make an arrest. The skies had been grey and dark the whole time they were there. The sun hadn’t broken through until they had made it back past Bristol. McGill turned away from the river and nurses quarters, in towards where the hospitals lay. There were ambulances coming and going, ferrying wounded from the railway sidings. Bandaged soldiers limped about on crutches as cheery nurses chivvied them along. The conversations were all of “mates” who were no longer there, who’d copped it somewhere to the North East, blown up by a shell, chopped in two by a hail of machine gun fire, or hung up on the wire. There’s no heroism here, thought McGill, there’s only death or survival.