The Iron Stallions by Max Hennessy Page B

picked up – an officer who preferred to start in the ranks against all precedents and need – and a few were inclined to bear down heavily on him, in case he thought he might be one up on them. A few, however, were forthrightly welcoming.
    ‘Can’t think how you imagined you could get away with it,’ Ellesmere said. ‘You’d have been spotted earlier if I hadn’t been on attachment to the RASC learning about lorries.’
    The Colonel’s advice was sound. ‘You’re going to find some of the other ranks will try to take advantage of the fact that they ate, slept and drank alongside you,’ he said. ‘On the whole, though, they’re a pretty sensible lot who’ll appreciate things are different now. But–’ the Colonel leaned forward ‘–make sure you stay your side of the fence and they stay theirs. Have no nonsense about familiarity. You’re an officer now and you’ve got to behave like one. And you have quite a name to keep up. Personally, I think you’ll have little trouble and, in any case, we’re all going to have our hands full before long. They want to take away our horses and give us armoured cars.’
     
    It turned out to be easier than Josh expected. No one tried to be familiar. One or two of the old soldiers eyed him askance and since he was not returned to Morby-Smith’s squadron but placed in Ellesmere’s, whose commanding officer was Leduc, there were few difficult moments. The NCOs were distant and respectful and his old friends welcoming. Syd Dodgin greeted him with a broad smile.
    ‘Good Heavens, sir,’ he said, stiffening to give him a tremendous salute. ‘Just look ’oo’s turned up.’
    Eddie Orne was more wary and when Josh saw him waiting for a bus into the town and offered him a lift in the old bull-nosed Morris he’d bought, he sat for a long time in stiff silence.
    ‘Come on, Ed,’ Josh said at last. ‘Spit it out. You’re dying to say something, I know.’
    There was a change of atmosphere at once and Orne visibly relaxed.
    ‘Yes–’ Orne stopped then went on with a rush ‘–sir! I nearly called you “Josh”, sir.’
    ‘Under the circumstances, I don’t think a lot of harm would have been done. I see you’ve got your skater.’
    ‘Yes, sir. They gave me yours.’
    There was another long silence then Orne spoke again. ‘You’ll have no trouble from me, sir,’ he said earnestly. ‘You’re an officer now and good luck to you. I reckon, coming from where you do, it’s best – not only for you, but for us.’
    ‘How’s that, Ed?’
    Orne smiled. ‘It comes out, sir. The best officers are always them whose families have been in the army for generations. Lord Ellesmere, sir. Mr Morby-Smith. I’ve seen their names on the roll of honour. One or two of them are bastards – if you’ll excuse the expression, sir, because it’s meant with no disrespect – but they know what they’re about and they know their responsibilities. The worst ones, sir, are the ones who just fancy themselves as officers because it’s smart.’
    ‘I think I know what you mean, Ed.’
    ‘I’m sure you do, sir. And, one of these days, when we’ve all got used to each other again, I’d consider it an honour, sir, if you could get me into your troop.’
     
    The following week, Josh found himself talking to a new batch of recruits who had arrived in Leduc’s squadron.
    ‘You’d better do it,’ Ellesmere said. ‘I’m sure you know it by heart.’
    ‘First of all,’ Josh found himself saying, ‘consider yourselves lucky. We’re a good regiment and the only cavalry regiment in the British army to wear green…’
    It seemed the first duty of a junior subaltern was to be seen and not heard. In addition to not speaking to his seniors, it seemed also that he was expected by tacit agreement to do a great deal of their work. It was also his task on Balaclava Day – when the Regiment celebrated its appearance in that auspicious disaster by offering its men free beer, its