Free Blackstone and the Great War by Sally Spencer Page A

into a heap on the floor.
    â€˜I didn’t do it,’ he said. ‘I didn’t. Honest, I didn’t!’
    â€˜Why don’t you sit down?’ Blackstone suggested softly.
    Blenkinsop tottered uncertainly over to the second chair, which was facing Blackstone’s own, and collapsed into it.
    A good soldier-servant, Blackstone knew from his own observations, had to be perceptive and sensitive, industrious, efficient and sanguine. If his officer’s appearance fell below the accepted standard, then both the servant and the officer were deemed to have failed – the former for turning out his master in an improper manner, and the latter for displaying a lack of judgement by selecting a servant who was clearly not up to the job. Thus, when ex-soldier-servants chose to go into service in some of the grander civilian households – and many of them did – it was no surprise that they rose rapidly up the hierarchy of domestic service, and often even attained the exalted position of butler.
    Blenkinsop, in complete contrast to the usual type, was clearly not a good soldier-servant and none of the great houses would have considered him for a moment – even as the assistant bootboy.
    â€˜How long have you been Lieutenant Fortesque’s servant?’ Blackstone asked the quivering wreck.
    â€˜Three  . . . three months,’ Blenkinsop told him.
    â€˜What happened to his previous servant?’
    â€˜He was hit by a bit of shrapnel in the trench, and given his papers back to Blighty.’
    â€˜I see,’ Blackstone said. ‘And why do you think that Lieutenant Fortesque chose you to replace him?’
    â€˜I don’t know.’
    â€˜You have no idea at all?’
    â€˜None.’
    â€˜And you didn’t ask him why he’d chosen you?’
    â€˜No. I  . . . I didn’t think to.’
    Of course he hadn’t thought to. Men like Blenkinsop didn’t wonder why things happened – they just reacted to them.
    â€˜Do you remember the day he selected you?’ Blackstone asked.
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜How did he do it? Did your sergeant tell you to report to the lieutenant’s dugout?’
    â€˜No.’
    Blackstone sighed. Blenkinsop was hard work – but at least he seemed willing to give honest answers, as long as he was led to them.
    â€˜So where were you when he told you that you’d been selected?’
    â€˜I was by the cesspit.’
    â€˜By the cesspit!’
    â€˜Yes, you see, I  . . . I’d got into a fight with some of the other lads in the trench.’
    â€˜ You got into a fight ?’ Blackstone asked, disbelievingly.
    Blenkinsop shrugged. ‘Well, it wasn’t so much a fight as that some of the other lads was ragging me.’
    Of course they were, Blackstone thought.
    Blenkinsop was a natural victim – the sort of man that other men will automatically take their own frustrations out on.
    â€˜Go on,’ Blackstone said.
    â€˜Lieutenant Fortesque caught them at it. He got very angry, and said they shouldn’t be forcing any of their comrades’ heads into the cesspit, but if they had to do it to somebody, they shouldn’t choose his servant. And, like I said, I didn’t even know he’d chosen me as his servant at the time.’
    Of course you didn’t, Blackstone thought. And if it hadn’t been for the bullying, he probably never would have chosen you.
    â€˜What was the lieutenant like to work for?’ he asked aloud.
    Blenkinsop shrugged again. ‘He got cross with me, sometimes. I don’t blame him – I tried as hard as I could, but I wasn’t very good.’
    â€˜Did he even threaten to replace you?’
    Blenkinsop shook his head. ‘He used to say, “You’re bloody useless, Blenkinsop. I’d be better off with employing a baboon to do your job – but if I threw you out now, you wouldn’t last a day.”