Bad Job
Two Years to Do. By David Baxter. (Elek, 15s.) BOREDOM and bloody-mindedness seem to be the main emotions generated by military service in peace-time. One of the most revealing passages in David Baxter's well-written book about how he hated the British Army describes how the morale of a unit soared when it was due to leave for Cyprus. Mr. Baxter is disapproving about this, but he should have understood. His own account of the infinite tedium involved in moving about Britain from one ramshackle encampment to another makes shooting or being shot at seem quite desirable by comparison. However, he him- self did not go to Cyprus, and his book tells a story of dirty and aimless routine punctuated by escapes into the countryside and by such episodes as going AWOL in London (very convincing this last). As a narrative this is not without its mono- tony; I became a little tired of greasy cookhouses and filthy huts and also of Mr. Baxter's constant making the worst of a bad job. However, the book is saved by the quality of its writing. In particular, the writer manages to infuse into his numerous descriptions of the English countryside a curious feeling of magic, which can make the landscape of Dorset suddenly seem astonishingly ancient and far away. There are, indeed, sugges- tions of D. H. Lawrence about these parts of the book, but they are not overdone, and the con- trast between an archaic earth and a senselessly artificial institution like the RASC gives Mr. Baxter's narrative a meaning other than the obvious 'persecuted intellectual' theme.
ANTHONY HART! TY
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