How the Captain Got his Garter by Ian Douglas Robertson

Jimmy Comerton and I were given the task of tidying up the big shed at the back of the yard. It was a wet autumn day, ideal for the job. After the frenzy of the harvest, the shed was in a mess. Bales of hay and straw had been thrown higgledy-piggledly everywhere, some bursting out of their bindings in an untidy sprawl. Machinery and tools had been lackadaisically discarded in unlikely places. We had also been commissioned to prepare a makeshift pen for the lambing season – my father always tended to think ahead.

Jimmy liked order and we both entered into the task with great gusto. As a result, we finished about half an hour before it was time to knock off. So, as we had cut our tea break short, we felt we were justified in settling down on the newly regimented bales to finish what was left of Jimmy’s flask of tea.

Jimmy’s favourite subject, of course, was Captain Leon de Vergus, Knight of the Garter, for whom he had worked as a shepherd before coming to us. Jimmy’s feelings about the Captain were ambivalent, to say the least. He harboured enormous respect for him and an admiration that bordered on hero worship, but he also enjoyed reducing him in stature at every opportunity, by making fun of his rather eccentric clothes, foppish manners and genteel speech.

“Did I ever tell ye, Bob, how Captain Leon de Vergus got his garter?”

“You told us how the Captain beat you at a sheep-shearing contest but I don’t think…”

“That’s best forgotten. Ye see, the Captain codded me. I had no idea then that he was no toff at all, only lettin’ on that he was.”

I laughed. “He was the son of a small sheep farmer up near Inistoige, wasn’t he?”

“He was all right, but ‘tis hard to believe it now, with all the airs and graces on him.”

“So, how did the Captain get his garter?”

“Well, there are two versions, Bob, and ye can take your pick. The first version goes somethin’ like this. Captain Leon de Vergus, who was only a lieutenant at the time, havin’ recently finished his trainin’ at Sandhurst, was sent out with the BEF forces to push back Hitler, who was after gettin’ very cocky entirely. He had invaded Denmark and was pushin’ south to Holland and Belgium. Now, the thing was, Bob, that the French and the British had better equipment and more men than the Nazis but there was total chaos among the upper ranks, particularly of the French army. Their tactics were outdated and there was very poor communication between the high command and the officers on the ground. I’ve read all about it. Anyway, Leon didn’t know that, nor did anyone else in his regiment. They thought they’d been sent on a joyride, to have a bit of an ould punch-up with Herr Hitler’s troops and after they’d given them a fair ould latherin’ the Krauts’d go runnin’ off back to Germany with their tails between their legs. So, many young fellas like Leon de Vergus were treatin’ it more like a day’s outin’ with the lads than a serious campaign.”

“With war on, though, there was the general feelin’ that it was a good idea to enjoy yerself while ye could. Anyway, Leon and some of the lads went to one of them dance shows. What are they called now?”

“Cabarets?”

The very same, where the women do show the length of their legs and a lot more besides. Sure, you must have heard of them, Bob!”

“You mean, the Folies Bergères?’

“The very same, kickin’ their legs up in the air in a very spicy fashion, you might say. As you may know, Bob, the ladies wore black stockin’s with a garter tied around the thigh. Now, one of the lads bet Leon he couldn’t get the garter off the tall blonde one with the fancy diddies. As ye know only too well, Captain Leon de Vergus is not one to turn down a bet. He entered into it heart and soul. And so, after the show he went round back stage and waited outside the lady’s dressing room. Leon de Vergus was fortunate in that he was a fluent speaker of French, so he had no trouble at all explainin’ to the lovely damoiselle that he had a bet on with one of his mates. Oh, she was delighted to give him her garter, but only if he spent the night with her – the captain is a very handsome lad, even more so then, I’d warrant. Well, bein’ in the army and all and Hitler on’y a few miles up the road, it wasn’t easy to get permission to spend a night outside the barracks, but Leon and his superior officer went to the same school, so the old school tie worked a treat. In the mornin’ Leon de Vergus came back to the barracks minus his virginity but brandishin’ a very fine garter, still attached to the very black stockin’ worn by the lovely lady who had been showin’ off her legs on’y a few hours previous. So, that’s the one version. Now the second is a bit more heroic, you might say, though losin’ your virginity with Hitler’s troops only a few miles away took some guts too, I suppose.”

“Anyway, the day after the sheep-shearin’ contest, Pat Delaney told me all about the Captain. And ‘tis a tale worth tellin’. The Captain, well, he wasn’t a Captain then, nor was he Leon either… he was Jeremiah Gaffney. They called him Jerry for short. Anyway, Jerry and his family lived only half a mile from the estate of Lord Banville de Vergus. Did ye ever hear tell of him, Bob?”

“No, never.”

“Ah, sure ‘tis not surprisin’. The place is crawlin’ with lords and counts and God knows what else, claimin’ to be descendants of some noble family or other. I wouldn’t put any pass on ‘em at all. They’re all impostors, the whole lot of them. Anyway, Lord Banville de Vergus had one son by the name of Horace. Horace was about the same age as Jerry. Of course, bein’ the son of a nob, Horace didn’t go to school. He had what they call a governess. Ye know what that is, Bob?”

“I think so, yes.”

“Well, it meant the lad did all his lessons at home. So, Horace was desperate for the company of young fellas like himself. Anyway, he used to love wanderin’ the fields and one day he came across Jerry mindin’ his father’s sheep. Horace struck up a conversation with him and in no time at all they were great pals altogether. After that, the two of them couldn’t be parted. At first, Lord and Lady de Vergus were a bit cagey about lettin’ their son knock around with a local nipper but they saw that Jerry was a nice enough lad and there was little chance of any harm comin’ to him. So, for many years after that, Jerry spend half his time up at the big house eatin’ roast beef and Brussels sprouts, while Horace spent the other half eatin’ boiled bacon and cabbage in the Gaffney farmhouse. They were like chalk and cheese, so Pat says, Horace in his grand suit of clothes and Jerry in the rough homespun coat and trousers his mother made for him out of the sheep’s wool, with nothin’ on his feet in summer and a pair of ould brogues in winter to keep his feet from gettin’ the chilblains. Oh, they say Horace would have sooner worn rough clothes and gone around with no shoes on him like his friend Jerry but the parents wouldn’t have it. They had to draw the line somewhere.”

“Anyway, when Jerry was about ten years old, a terrible tragedy struck the Gaffney family. Didn’t Jerry’s parents come down with tuberculosis. Oh, there was a fearful epidemic throughout the country at the time. Lord Banville was a decent enough man and did all he could for Jerry’s parents. He got in the best doctors and sent them up to a sanatorium somewhere near Newtownmountkennedy in Wicklow. But there was no cure for the TB back then. Ye either lived or died and no doctor, however many letters he had after his name, could do anything about it. Well, Jerry’s parents both died, anyway. So, Jerry was left an orphan. There was talk of him goin’ to live with an uncle who lived up on the Galtees, but it would have been a rough ould life, because they already had nine childer of their own and one more would have broken the camel’s back, as they say.”

“Of course, they would have taken him in, if Lord Banville hadn’t offered to look after Jerry. Well, Horace was delighted to have a brother and Lady Winifred to have a second son, which she and the Lord had been trying for without success for many years. It wasn’t long after that that Lord Banville offered to adopt Jerry, but only on condition that Jerry changed his name. Jerry was no name for a toff. It had to be somethin’ you wouldn’t hear in the village pub, like, ye know. So, they called him Leon. Now, I don’t know whether that’s short for Leonard, but anyway that’s what they called him, Leon de Vergus.”

“Now, bein’ nobs and all, Lord Banville sent the two of them to what they call a public school in England. Whether it was Eton or Harrow, I wouldn’t know, but one of the two anyway. Well, I can tell ye, Bob, Jerry, or Leon as he was now, lost his Wexford brogue quicker than a moll loses her flower. They say that the bullyin’ that goes on would make Kilmainham gaol look like a kindergarten. A lad with an Irish accent wouldn’t go down at all well in them places. Anyway, Horace and Leon were able to watch each other’s back and no bully, however tough, could take on the two of them. And that’s how it went. After school, they both went to Oxford University.”

“Then, just when they had finished and were about to start careers in the diplomatic service, there was talk of war. So, as men of good breedin’, as they both were now, they hurried off down to Sandhurst to train as officers. At one point they were goin’ to be split up but they kicked up a fuss and said as brothers they wanted to stay together. I wouldn’t be surprised if Lord Banville didn’t have a hand in keepin’ them together – ye can’t bate the ould school tie, Bob. Oh, sure they went through some rough times together. They were damn near killed at Dunkirk. Then, the two of them were chosen to join the Special Intelligence Services, their main job bein’ to protect Winston Churchill. Now, as you may or may not know, Bob, Churchill was one mulish ould divil. He used to fly everywhere, over long distances, at the risk of bein’ shot down. Sure, Churchill was at the very top of Hitler’s hit list. If he managed to bump off Churchill, the whole allied forces would have collapsed like a stack of cards.”

“Well, the upshot of the story is that Leon and Horace saved Churchill’s life.”

“How did they do that?”

“Well, you see, Churchill had flown out to Gibraltar and then on to Egypt to see how things were goin’ there. Rommel and Monty were fightin’ it out in the Sahara and it was touch and go for a good while. Rommel was one foxy bugger, so they say, but Monty outwitted him in the end at El Alamein. Anyway, Horace and Leon got wind of a plot to kill Churchill on his way back to England through Portugal. So, they sent word that Churchill should change planes at the last minute. For once he listened. He took another plane and got back to London safe and sound. The plane Churchill was supposed to be on was shot down over the Bay of Biscay and all the passengers were killed, includin’ a man by the name of Chenhals that liked to dress like Churchill and smoke them big cigars. Apparently, a spy saw him get on board, tipped off the authorities in Berlin and the order went out to shoot down the plane. A whole feckin’ squadron of Juger Ju ‘88s came after him. They fairly riddled the plane, so they say. Sure ‘twas no more than a feckin’ sieve by the end of it. It was the same plane that that famous actor Leslie Howard was on. Chenhals was his manager. Hitler must have been as mad as hell when he found out that his arch enemy was alive and well, back in London, once again rulin’ the roost.”

“Anyway, Churchill heard about all the good work Horace and Leon were doin’ to keep him alive and recommended that after the War they should be made Knights of the Garter. Now, that may not be true, but it’s what they say anyway. Well, after that Horace and Leon were shipped back to England, where they joined up with their old regiment the 6^th Airborne and soon they found themselves fightin’ to stop Hitler reachin’ the Dutch coast. He had sent a mighty army through the Ardennes with a plan to cross the Meuse River. Leon was the captain of a small group of men holed up in a village on the edge of the forest called St Vith. Oh, things were desperate. Half his men were killed as the squareheads charged through. Captain Leon de Vergus and Lieutenant Horace de Vergus could do nothin’ but live with the corpses. Food and water were scarce and the rats were crawlin’ all over them. After a couple of days stuck in the house, they knew one of them would have to go in search of food and water. Horace, as the junior officer volunteered, but Leon wouldn’t let his brother go because he was afraid that with his blond hair and light skin he’d be more easily spotted in the dark than himself, who was dark-haired and dark skinned. So, he went in his place. Soon enough he found food and water in an abandoned house and was just creepin’ back when he heard an almighty explosion from where they were holed up. When he got back, he found Horace lying in a pool of blood, half the side of his body ripped off. Horace didn’t last more than a minute or so.”

“Well, as ye can imagine, Bob, the Captain was devastated. After that, he couldn’t care if he lived or died. He was just hell bent on gettin’ revenge. Well, he had plenty of chances and they say he and the 6^th reeked havoc over Berlin. They damn near flattened the place with the help of the yanks. Anyway, when the war was over, the Captain went back to see his adopted parents. ‘Twas a sad homecomin’ all right. The lord and lady were in a terrible state but at least they had Leon to comfort them.”

“As soon as he was demobbed, he took over the runnin’ of the farm and did a better job, so they say, than Lord Banville ever did. ‘Twas in his blood, you see. Lord Banville and Lady Winifred were gettin’ old and after the shock of losin’ Horace, they didn’t last long. When I got the job at De Vergus’s, they were both dead and buried. So, that’s how Jeremiah Gaffney became Captain Leon de Vergus, Knight of the Garter. You may believe it or you may not. All I know is he’s got plenty of medals, includin’ the Victoria Cross and the George Cross. I know that for a fact because the missus used to work up at the big house and she saw them in a glass cabinet all lined up in purple silk-lined cases.”

“That’s quite a story, Jimmy.”

“Oh, it is all right. Now, I suppose you’re askin’ yerself how come Leon de Vergus didn’t go back to bein’ Jeremiah Gaffney when his adopted parents died.”

“No, not at all. Why should he? He couldn’t deny his education and all that he had been through.”

“I suppose you’re right there, Bob, but ‘tis strange all right to think of how different things would have been, if Jerry’s parents hadn’t got the TB.”

“Yes,” I said pensively. “It seems our lives depend a lot on luck.”

“Oh, sure ‘tis all about luck all, and ‘tis true that some of us do get less of it than others.”

“So, Leon de Vergus could actually call himself Lord Leon de Vergus, if he wanted to.”

“That’s true enough, Bob, and to be straight with ye, I never thought of that before. For some reason, he do prefer Captain Leon de Vergus, Knight of the Garter.”

“Maybe it’s because he doesn’t want to deny his humble origins. He only wants to keep what he earned by himself, his rank and his honours.”

“Bob, you know you may be right.”

“Despite what you say, Jimmy, I think I quite like Captain Leon de Vergus, Knight of the Garter.”

“Jes’, will ye look at the time? ‘Tis gone half five. If I don’t get home soon, the missus’ll have me guts for garters.”

 “Garters?” I said.

Jimmy smiled. “She may not tie them around her thighs, Bob, but she’ll make good use of them all the same,” he said, putting one hand around his neck and squeezing it tightly.

We both burst into howls of laughter.

Ian Douglas Robertson

Image: Auckland Museum, CC BY 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0, via Wikimedia Commons – a set of millitary medals