Shadows of the Workhouse

nothing too flash, like, because he ain’t got much money on him at present.’
    “I was alarmed. I hadn’t got any money. But before I could speak, the landlord said, ‘Call it on the ’ouse, sarj, on the ’ouse. It’s an honour to entertain a Guardsman any time. And any friend of yours is a friend of mine. Now, young sir, would tripe and faggots, and a good chunk of last night’s pease pudding fried up crispy-like, suit you?’
    “I couldn’t believe my luck. It sounded like a meal fit for a king.
    “‘Oh, an’ do you like bread-and-drippin’, young sir?’
    “I loved bread and dripping!
    “The meal arrived, and it was enough for two kings. I just ate and ate. The sergeant didn’t say anything. He just smoked his pipe and drank his porter, and looked out of the window at the pigeons squabbling on the window sill.
    “When I had finished, he said, ‘You were hungry, squire.’
    “I nodded, and thanked him warmly.
    “‘Don’t thank me, lad. You heard what the landlord said: it’s an honour to entertain a Guardsman. We gets that all the time, we do. We gets used to it. Treated like royalty, we are, wherever we go. No one can do enough for us. Did you ever see a soldier go hungry? Course not.’
    “He puffed his pipe, and called for another pint of porter, saying, confidentially, ‘Between ourselves, the ale in this house is real special. Old Bill brews it himself. If you are a konosser of good ales, young squire – and I am sure you are – I don’t think you will be disappointed. Unless, of course, you prefer coffee after breakfast.’ What a suggestion to a fifteen-year-old, going on sixteen!
    “Bill brought two pints of porter, and I began to confide in the sergeant. I told him my father was dead.
    “‘Oh, your poor mother,’ the sergeant said huskily, pulling out a handkerchief. ‘My father died when I was a young lad – much younger than you, of course. I was sixteen when my father died, and my poor mother had a life of hard, hard work in order to keep us.’ He blew his nose and dabbed his eyes. ‘What would a man do without his mother? She sacrifices everything to bring up her family, and does without herself. A man can’t do enough to repay his mother, he can’t. My mother’s settled comfortably in a nice little cottage in the country, which me and my brother John got her with our army pay.’
    “‘I thought your brother was Joe.’
    “‘I mean Joe. John’s the other brother I haven’t told you about. Here, Bill, more ale, and look lively.’
    “‘Did you say a cottage in the country?’
    “He nodded.
    “‘Yerse. It was the least we could do for our poor old mum. My brother Joe and me – he’s a good lad, he is – we saves up our army pay, and now she lives like a princess, our old mother does. Wants for nothing.’
    “I thought of my mother, sitting up half the night, mending for a rascally second-hand-clothes dealer, going out at five in the morning to clean offices, and then toiling all day over the wash tub. I said, ‘How do you get into the army?’
    “He looked surprised, and raised his eyebrows.
    “‘Oh, was you thinking of an army career, then?’
    “I nodded. ‘But how do you get in?’
    “He drew his chair closer to mine, and lowered his voice. ‘It’s not easy. I can tell you that for a start. You needs hinfluence. It’s not what you knows, but who you knows, as the saying goes. It’s a lucky day for you, squire, that you met me, because I’ve taken a real fancy to you, seeing as you are like my young brother Joe. How old are you, Joe? Seventeen, eighteen, eh?’
    “‘Seventeen,’ I said. It was a lie, I was fifteen.
    “‘I thought as much. A good judge of age, I am. It’s lucky for you you are seventeen, because you couldn’t get into the army if you was only sixteen.’
    “He leaned closer, and muttered out of the side of his mouth: ‘Is your health good? No nasties, nothing like that, I take it?’
    “I said my health was good.
    “‘Are you a Christian? The army won’t have none of them heathens and hatheists.’
    “I said I was Church of England.
    “‘Now, you’re an intelligent lad, I can see that. Can you write your name?’
    “I said I had been at school full-time until I was thirteen.
    “‘A scholar, my word. With your edifaction, sir, you will rise to the rank of brigadier general, you will.’
    “He stretched out his hand, took my porter from me, and drank it himself.
    “‘If you are going to put pen to