TEARS OF THE FOOT GUARDS

SCHERZO - STAVE XXXV

S T A V E

XXXV

"Get him up!" Jack Waddley cried as Tim hoisted Geordie piggyback; they nearly toppled from laughing.

Down the length of the warehouse's second story, a First Guardsman hefted his mate in the same manner. The rows of tables had been cleared away and the men and women lined the cavern laughing and shouting, pipes in their mouths and cups in their fists. Halfway the length on either side were five barrels sitting on end as seats for the Honoured Guests. The room dim despite the many tallow candles and roaring fireplaces at each end. Clouds of pipe smoke descended from the ceiling, softening the stained and damaged walls. Outside, a night wind howled, battering the windows with frozen rain; cold seeped through the joints of the casements. But none felt it, warmed by a fine supper and casks of ale; General Mathew had dined tonight with the Company and paid for it out his own purse. A great Honour – he and Colonels West Hyde, Garth, Howard and Gordon. Captain Madan came too, visiting his old Company. "Captain Madan!" the men cried as if some favoured Uncle not seen in years – once a Grenadier, always a Grenadier. The officers had sat upon a dais at the room's far end, laughing and drinking – Theatre for the men, who on their best Behavior, smiled on cue, laughed on cue. Indeed, no rouse; they were greatly honoured by the presence of their brigadier, Edward Mathew, a stern customer. If he should smile at you, you felt blessed. The officers took their turn to toast each Guards regiment. Toasted the Prince-royals, her Majesty the Queen, and in between each, a Toast to the King. Each recounted a mission he'd led with the grenadiers, making sure to identify a least one private by name and have the man stand to receive Honours. The men sang their regimental songs and stood numerous times to sing God Save the King. At 8:00, General Mathew thanked them for their Good Company, as he and the officers retired to grander pursuits. But he left to them, with his complements, four kegs of rum and ale.

Into the center of the room marched the grenadier fifers and two drummers from Company #4. They presented their instruments as if on parade and played the 'Country Dance', the drummers tapping their sticks against one another among the beats with a flourish. The men cheered as if they'd never seen it before, and with that, the musicians, with another refrain, marched in slow time up and down the room, every step a perfect glide despite their advancing Inebriation.

A Third Guards piper then stood at the door and piped in a line of soldiers in Drag, clownish beauties with white painted faces and exaggerated moves. They divided into two groups and mounted the opposing row of barrels as the crowd whistled and hooted – "Brigade Wives" and "Women of the Town". At the center of it all was the Queen of Love and Beauty who took her seat in the middle of the row of barrels – Elliot in stays, petticoats and a turban.

Private Willcock stepped into the center of the room and banged the tip of a sergeant's stick against the wide pine floors. "Hear ye! Hear ye!" he cried. "See before ye the most excellent assembly of Prostitutes and Wives, abounding with accomplishment and virtue . . . each particular in their way." The room laughed. "When a Johnny's randified and in need of a good Swiving, shall he go to the riverfront to sail on a Frigate, or shall he wait till his mates are pop-skulled and sooth his passion in the warm arms of a willing Wife? Vocation or Avocation?

The professional's Experience or Passion of a Whore?"

"Experience!"

"Passion!"

"Let it be said both Excel. But which is better? The Public or Private sphere? Commerce or Camaraderie? Wide and broad is the professional passage – one may go in and out as many times you please so long as ye pay the Toll. But small and tight is the private Gate, deep with gushing mystery, a passion the likes ye may never have again. But your goose is cooked air you're caught, or worse, she might never go away, or worse still, her husband might bid ye take her!" Another laugh. "We gather now on this field of honour to settle the oldest of disputes, to determine once and for all by the clash of bloody arms, which is the Better Bed!"