that the high sheriff had said something about him, and they had all turned – clapping. He had not the slightest idea what had been said, but he got an inkling of what it might have been when the woman, still clapping, said in his ear,
‘Did the Queen put it on you herself?’
She obviously meant the DFC he’d won in 1942. The fact that she thought the Queen had been the monarch then, he was quite resigned to. The appalling lack of knowledge about the history of their country and its geography, he had got used to many years ago. God only knew what they taught in schools these days.
He just said ‘Yes,’ and dipped his head in acknowledgement to the high sheriff.
The speech continued, was all about the wonderful people in the county – far more than the present incumbent had ever realized – who volunteered to do unpaid work in the community to help people of all ages, in health and sickness, to make their livesbetter. It was his opinion that the county would be a far poorer place without them.
There was an enthusiastic response from the audience, and Biff receded thankfully into the background again. He didn’t like any allusion to the medal. He knew so many men more worthy, who had never made it to Buck House, or to the end for that matter, to see the final victory. Their resting places were unknown: they had died so that the nice young woman to his left could be so ignorant of the history of the country, if the country so wished.
Biff couldn’t help wonder whether without their sacrifice, she might have been better educated – in German history.
German history.…
Chapter Five
They’d been there for two days, doing nothing in particular, just taking the sun on the hotel’s pontoons at the foot of the cliff, swimming in the clear blue-green water, looking at the seabed with its colourful fish and plants, and generally resting after their journey.
On the third day they decided to go to Pompeii, to the Roman ruins and the continuing excavations.
The hotel had arranged taxis as several people were going.
When they gathered in the entrance hall there was a gentleman wearing an old-fashioned canvas jacket and waistcoat with spats on his shoes, striped trousers, and sporting a monocle, and several elderly ladies without escorts – widows of the Great War no doubt. About eight other people – couples – were there also, some they had seen around the hotel, had even become on nodding terms with at breakfast.
One couple was standing to one side.
Rosemary smiled at the woman who smiled back. Biff didn’t really want to join up with anybody, especially as they looked English. The man was wearing a double-breasted dark-blue blazer, with short, high lapels, and six brass buttons down the front, done up.
His cravat was in a dark maroon that complimented his rather racy pink shirt. Grey flannels completed his kit.
Biff felt a little scruffy. Because of the possibility of its being ahot day he wore his blue shirt with its wide collar outside his rather crumpled summer jacket, and with his white cricket bags as trousers.
The girl, though, he had to admit, was a stunner, dressed in a light summer frock, rather like Rosemary’s, but it seemed to be in a very risqué material: he fancied he caught sight of the outline of her legs when she stepped into a ray of sunlight.
He pulled Rosemary gently away towards the reception desk.
‘I need to ask about the passports.’
She was puzzled.
‘Why? They’ll give them back when they’re ready.’
‘You don’t want to get involved, do you?’ he hissed. ‘They could be as boring as hell. He looks like some flash chap from the City who wants to tell us how much he earned last year.’
Rosemary shook her head.
‘No, she looks really nice to me – and he is obviously an outdoor type. You’re just being miserable.’
He knew she was right.
The man in the old-fashioned kit suddenly clapped his hands and called out:
‘Is everybody here for the Pompeii
‘Did the Queen put it on you herself?’
She obviously meant the DFC he’d won in 1942. The fact that she thought the Queen had been the monarch then, he was quite resigned to. The appalling lack of knowledge about the history of their country and its geography, he had got used to many years ago. God only knew what they taught in schools these days.
He just said ‘Yes,’ and dipped his head in acknowledgement to the high sheriff.
The speech continued, was all about the wonderful people in the county – far more than the present incumbent had ever realized – who volunteered to do unpaid work in the community to help people of all ages, in health and sickness, to make their livesbetter. It was his opinion that the county would be a far poorer place without them.
There was an enthusiastic response from the audience, and Biff receded thankfully into the background again. He didn’t like any allusion to the medal. He knew so many men more worthy, who had never made it to Buck House, or to the end for that matter, to see the final victory. Their resting places were unknown: they had died so that the nice young woman to his left could be so ignorant of the history of the country, if the country so wished.
Biff couldn’t help wonder whether without their sacrifice, she might have been better educated – in German history.
German history.…
Chapter Five
They’d been there for two days, doing nothing in particular, just taking the sun on the hotel’s pontoons at the foot of the cliff, swimming in the clear blue-green water, looking at the seabed with its colourful fish and plants, and generally resting after their journey.
On the third day they decided to go to Pompeii, to the Roman ruins and the continuing excavations.
The hotel had arranged taxis as several people were going.
When they gathered in the entrance hall there was a gentleman wearing an old-fashioned canvas jacket and waistcoat with spats on his shoes, striped trousers, and sporting a monocle, and several elderly ladies without escorts – widows of the Great War no doubt. About eight other people – couples – were there also, some they had seen around the hotel, had even become on nodding terms with at breakfast.
One couple was standing to one side.
Rosemary smiled at the woman who smiled back. Biff didn’t really want to join up with anybody, especially as they looked English. The man was wearing a double-breasted dark-blue blazer, with short, high lapels, and six brass buttons down the front, done up.
His cravat was in a dark maroon that complimented his rather racy pink shirt. Grey flannels completed his kit.
Biff felt a little scruffy. Because of the possibility of its being ahot day he wore his blue shirt with its wide collar outside his rather crumpled summer jacket, and with his white cricket bags as trousers.
The girl, though, he had to admit, was a stunner, dressed in a light summer frock, rather like Rosemary’s, but it seemed to be in a very risqué material: he fancied he caught sight of the outline of her legs when she stepped into a ray of sunlight.
He pulled Rosemary gently away towards the reception desk.
‘I need to ask about the passports.’
She was puzzled.
‘Why? They’ll give them back when they’re ready.’
‘You don’t want to get involved, do you?’ he hissed. ‘They could be as boring as hell. He looks like some flash chap from the City who wants to tell us how much he earned last year.’
Rosemary shook her head.
‘No, she looks really nice to me – and he is obviously an outdoor type. You’re just being miserable.’
He knew she was right.
The man in the old-fashioned kit suddenly clapped his hands and called out:
‘Is everybody here for the Pompeii
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