Llangern Farm road-end,' for the place where they had stopped appeared to be in the middle of nowhere. Avedissian got out his wallet but the driver said, 'All taken care of.' Avedissian gave him a pound anyway and watched as the taxi did a three-point turn and disappeared back down the road to town.
It was still and hot and the hedgerows buzzed with business of summer. Avedissian wanted to sit down but somehow felt that he should remain conspicuous. He loosened his collar and began to pace up and down. At first it was ten paces in both directions but then further as boredom dictated.
After ten minutes he heard the sound of an approaching engine and looked along the road in both directions, unable to decide where the noise was coming from. As it grew louder Avedissian realised that it was not coming from the road at all. A small military vehicle was coming towards him across the fields. It drew to a halt and a shirt-sleeved sergeant beckoned to him. 'In you get, sir.'
There was no opportunity for conversation above the sound of the Land-Rover's engine so Avedissian contented himself with the view and concentrated on keeping his backside in contact with the seat as the vehicle bounced over the Brecon moorland.
Distance was difficult to judge but Avedissian reckoned that they had travelled about three miles from the road when they reached a track leading up to some gates which were almost obscured by a copse of conifers. The vehicle slowed and Avedissian said, 'I take it we have arrived.'
'Llangern House,’ replied the sergeant.
The house was impressively large and Avedissian was moved to wonder who had built it where it stood and why. The answers obviously lay in the last century but he did not bother to ask for there were more important things to consider as the sergeant took his bag from the back and led the way inside.
A young man bearing the insignia of a captain in the army, but like the sergeant bearing no regimental badges, stood up to meet them.
'You must be wondering what this is all about,’ he said to Avedissian.
'A bit,’ agreed Avedissian as they shook hands and the officer indicated that he should sit down.
'Quite simply, you are here for a bit of a tone up.'
The captain smiled as Avedissian repeated the phrase slowly. 'Yes,’ he said, 'You know the sort of thing — a spot of running, bit of hill walking, some PT, general improvement in fitness, that sort of thing.'
'I'm a doctor, not a football player,' Avedissian protested.
'Oh really?' said the captain, 'I didn't know that. Says here you're an ex-Para.'
'That was years ago.'
'Well, never mind. It's a bit like riding a bike really. You never really forget.'
Avedissian did not agree but said nothing.
'We get all sorts here,' said the captain. 'Bit like a health farm I suppose. Wouldn't you say so, Sergeant?'
'Yes sir, quite so sir.'
Avedissian felt even more uneasy.
'Now, Sergeant, perhaps you would show Mr, sorry, Dr Avedissian here to his quarters.' The captain turned to Avedissian and said, 'When you have settled in we would like you to see the MO. Come to think of it, you two should have lots in common, both being doctors and all.'
Avedissian emptied out what little there was in his travel bag and stowed it away in a bedside locker. He put the bottle of gin at the back and concealed it as best he could. He was already depressed for he had felt sure that he would learn something about his job today but now that seemed unlikely. He had been sent to summer camp.
The sergeant was waiting for Avedissian when he returned downstairs and said, 'If you will just follow me, sir.'
Avedissian dutifully trotted along behind him until they came to a glass door marked Unit Medical Officer. The sergeant knocked and stood back to let Avedissian enter first.
'Mr… er… Dr Avedissian,' announced the sergeant.
The sergeant left and Avedissian and the Medical Officer sized each other up. 'I didn't know you were a doctor,’ said the MO.
'I'm not but I was,’ said Avedissian.
'Oh I see. One of those,’ said the MO.
'Not exactly,’ said Avedissian coldly.
'Well, no matter. Take your clothes off.'
Avedissian stripped and answered questions as the MO filled in a large pink form. The questionnaire, Avedissian deduced, had been designed to ascertain his present level of fitness.
'Play any games?'
'No.'
'Jog?'
'No'.
'Take any exercise at all?'
'No.’
The MO completed a list of negatives and said, 'Right then. Let's take a look at you.’
Avedissian marked mental time as he underwent the examination and the MO filled in the blanks on a yellow sheet. Height, weight, blood pressure, pulse, lung function, chest expansion.
'Do you wear glasses?'
'For reading.’
'Ah yes, Anno Domini.’
'Quite,’ said Avedissian flatly.
The MO completed his examination and put down his forms. He folded his arms and said, 'Quite frankly, Avedissian, you're a wreck. What the hell have you been doing to yourself?'
Avedissian shrugged his shoulders but did not reply.
'Booze,’ said the MO, answering his own question. 'Still, the damage is nothing that a bit of exercise and some decent meals won't cure. You can go now.'
As Avedissian finished dressing and turned to leave the MO asked, 'Did you bring any with you?'
'No,’ Avedissian lied. He closed the door and rejoined the sergeant who had been waiting for him in the corridor. He was taken to the quartermaster where the kit that was issued did little to restore his morale, for it comprised three sets of military fatigues, waterproof clothing, two pairs of boots, a knife, a compass, a map-case and mess tins.
'Anything else you will require will be issued to you as you need it,' said the sergeant.
Avedissian was acutely aware of a strong physical element in what had been implied or said since his arrival. It made him uneasy. He was not at all reassured by references to 'a bit of exercise' or 'a spot of this or that' for, to him, it smacked of practised military understatement, the sort of mentality that dismissed World War Two as a 'bit of bother'. His line of thought became defensive.
The sergeant took Avedissian back to his room and left him to consider his options. His first thought was to wonder whether or not he actually had any. He was not in the army, he reasoned. They could not make him do anything he did not want to do. He could leave at any time. That was the theory but when he thought about what would actually happen in practice things were not so clearly defined. If he walked out through the door he would be a figure on the landscape. He would have no job, no prospects and no future. Did that seem attractive? Avedissian introduced a working hypothesis of hoping for the best.
Avedissian came down to dinner at seven as instructed and joined his fellow guests. Like him they were all wearing dark green fatigues with name tags above, the left breast pocket. A tall man with short cropped hair came towards him and said, 'I'm Paul Jarvis, we will be working together.'
Avedissian shook hands and feared the worst, for Jarvis was in his mid-twenties and struck him as being as hard as a rock. He prayed that 'working together' did not hold an element of competition.
A tall, spare man with the rank of major rose to his feet and welcomed them to Llangern. It was day one for all of them, he said, and introduced the staff, six in all, who were to be addressed by rank alone. Military discipline would be observed at all times but bull would be kept to a minimum and allowances would be made for the fact that some members of the course were unfamiliar with what that entailed. Avedissian hoped that that would include him
