The First of July(48)

Duke Street was a very different place from Regent Street, and Lord and Stevas was an immeasurably different establishment from Debenhams. Masculinity dominated the street and the outfitters. The shop itself had an aroma I came to associate with war before I knew what war really smelled like. The shop was all leather, chalk, polish, tobacco, and hair oil. It was, I suppose, the smell of gentlemen, and I had not known many gentlemen. On one side of the shop was a life-sized model of half a horse, and on this cavalry officers could test the cut of their breeches, but John Quickseed, the head tailor, had a trick of writing down a man’s measurements having simply looked him over and only then confirming his dimensions with a tape. In a back room, which smelled of oil, steam, and wool, was a cutter, a Pole, Jakob Rozenbaum (who, Joe, the junior assistant, told me, had once had his own workshop in Stepney, but people had taken against him on account of his German-sounding name and burned it to the ground the year before), and an old chap, Albert, who acted as a finisher.

I had thought that khaki was khaki. But this was not so: there was every combination of styles and combinations, or weights, of rolls of cloth from brown to green, from buff to gray to cream, that Mr. Nugent (his Christian name, I discovered later, was Montgomery) indicated with a wave of his hand. Linings and buttons and twisted silk cord and stiffeners: barathea, viyella, twill, tropical lightweight wool, worsted, serge, drill. Mr. Nugent explained that some officers came to be outfitted knowing in every detail what they required, but others needed assistance, so that every one of us must know exactly what the requirements were for his regiment and rank, and judge what further, more personal embellishments he might care to make and how far he might exceed the basic allowance he was allotted.

“Pockets,” Mr. Nugent said; “some gentlemen are very keen on pockets.” He paused and I could have sworn a look of distaste crossed his face, but then it was gone.

“Some junior officers may even need our invisible guidance: yellow shirts have been one such area. Cavalry officers are also a law unto themselves. We have, currently, a most eccentric officer commanding the 29th Division, for instance. One more point,” he said, fixing me with a stern look. “When an officer has but lately joined his regiment, he may, in anxiety or excitement, be inclined to purchase every single item that he believes he could conceivably need. It may not seem like good business to constrain him in his expenditure, but the officer who goes to join brother officers who are regulars can easily find himself a laughingstock. We do not want Lord and Stevas associated with his feelings of humiliation.”

This was just the start: officers were, of course, just men going to live abroad, to the colonies or to the Continent, and they needed the collars and handkerchiefs and socks that any gentleman might require, plus cased clocks, stud boxes, binoculars, and hip flasks; these were, said Mr. Nugent, a great favorite with many a subaltern’s mama and could be engraved to choice. These were to be my province, my predecessor having joined the Rifles a month earlier. I was quite impressed by our cigarette-case covers, canvas or wool in dull tones.

“For,” said Mr. Nugent, “what if an officer opened his case to offer a brother officer a cigarette and the sun, reflecting off the metal, alerted the enemy to his position?”

“What about spectacles?” I asked. “Might they similarly catch the light?” I had read this in a book when I was young. But Mr. Nugent continued as if I had never spoken.

One afternoon when we were quiet and Mr. Nugent elsewhere, the junior, Joe, beckoned me. We went down a short passage and he opened a door that swung back as silently as everything else here. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I saw long racks, covered with white sheeting, from under which hung khaki tunic sleeves and trouser hems.

“The waiting room,” said Joe. “It’s for unclaimed orders.”

When I didn’t appear to react sufficiently, he said “Them as has ordered new stuff but never lived to wear it.” He would have suited well as an undertaker’s mute in the old days.

The day I started, I had written to Dick and told him how things had gone for me and the bike, and said I hoped he was getting along all right. From time to time I bicycled to work, leaving the Hercules in the park, as Mr. Nugent thought only butchers’ boys rode bicycles.

Then, weeks later, on a fine June day, I bicycled a different route and who should I see walking up Regent Street but Florence. I rang the bell at her and she jumped in a gratifying way, but she seemed pleased enough to see me. At least she smiled, which Connie had rather given up doing. But it turned out that her main pleasure in seeing me was to tell me bad news.