The military philosophers by Anthony Powell Page A

for a quick answer.’
    ‘Liaison HQ in Scotland are going to be disappointed.’
    ‘What’s so difficult?’
    ‘There’s the Ministry of Supply angle.’
    ‘Can’t we ignore them for once?’
    ‘Ministry of Agriculture may require notification. Straw interests them … We won’t talk about that now. What I want you to tell me, Jenkins, is what Pennistone means by this…’
    Blackhead held – thrust – the file forward in my direction.
    ‘Couldn’t we just cast an eye over the straw file too, if you could find it while I try to solve this one?’
    Blackhead was unwilling, but in the end, after a certain amount of search, the file about hospital palliasses was found and also extracted.
    ‘Now it’s the Women’s Corps I want to talk about,’ he said. ‘Issue of certain items – soap, to be exact, and regulations for same. There’s a principle at stake. I pointed that out to Pennistone. Read this … where my minute begins …’
    To define the length of a ‘minute’ – an official memorandum authorizing or recommending any given course – is, naturally, like trying to lay down the size of a piece of chalk. There can be short minutes or long minutes, as there might be a chalk down or a fragment of chalk scarcely perceptible to the eye. Thus a long minute might be divided into sections and sub-headings, running into pages and signed by an authority of the highest rank. On the other hand, just as a piece of chalk might reasonably be thought of as a length of that limestone convenient for writing on a blackboard, the ordinary run of minutes exchanged between such as Pennistone and Blackhead might be supposed, in general, to take a fairly brief form – say two or three, to perhaps ten or a dozen, lines. Blackhead pointed severely to what he had written. Then he turned the pages several times. It was a real Marathon of a minute, even for Blackhead. When it came to an end at last he tapped his finger sharply on a comment written below his own signature.
    ‘Look at this,’ he said.
    He spoke indignantly. I leant forward to examine the exhibit, which was in Pennistone’s handwriting. Blackhead had written, in all, three and a half pages on the theory and practice of soap issues for military personnel, with especial reference to the Polish Women’s Corps. Turning from his spidery scrawl to Pennistone’s neat hand, two words only were inscribed. They stood out on the file:
    Please amplify. D. Pennistone. Maj. GS.
    Blackhead stood back.
    ‘What do you think of that?’ he asked.
    I could find no suitable answer, in fact had nearly laughed, which would have been fatal, an error from which no recovery would have been possible.
    ‘He didn’t mention the matter to me.’
    ‘As if I hadn’t gone into it carefully,’ said Blackhead.
    ‘You’d better have a word with Pennistone.’
    ‘Word with him? Not before I’ve made sure about the point I’ve missed. He wouldn’t have said that unless he knew. I thought you’d be able to explain, Jenkins. If he thinks I’ve omitted something, he’d hardly keep it from you.’
    ‘I’m at a loss – but about the palliasse straw —’
    ‘What else can he want to know?’ said Blackhead. ‘It’s me that’s asking the questions there, not him.’
    ‘You’ll have to speak together.’
    ‘Amplify, indeed,’ said Blackhead. ‘I spent a couple of hours on that file.’
    Blackhead stared down at what Pennistone had written. He was distraught; aghast. Pennistone had gone too far. We should be made to suffer for this frivolity of his. That was, if Blackhead retained his sanity.
    ‘What would you like me to do about it?’
    Blackhead took off his spectacles and pointed the shafts at me.
    ‘I’ll tell you what,’ he said. ‘I could send it to F 17 (b) for comments. They’re the only ones, in my view, who might take exception to not being consulted. They’re a touchy lot. Always have been. I may have slipped up in not asking them, but I’d have never guessed