Part 20 (1/2)
”A Gauleiter? He couldn't make a cigarette lighter,” said Jam-Jar.
Words didn't count here. We each produced our 48-hour pa.s.ses. The sweaty Sergeant took them all, walked to the window and squinted at them, he took three minutes to digest each one.
”They're all the same, Sarge,” I said kindly.
”No, they're not!” he snapped. ”Numbers and names are all different.”
The s.h.i.+t. He then proceeded to laboriously enter our names in a book. He wheezed as he almost etched our details on the paper. ”'Oo's senior here?” he said.
”You are,” I replied.
”I'm senior NCO with this party,” interjected Deans.
”You'll be responsible then,” said the s.h.i.+t.
”Responsible for what, Sarge?”
”Never mind what, you're responsible, understand?”
”Yes, Sergeant,” said Deans crisply. ”Partyyyy shunnnn.”
We all did nothing.
”From the right Number.”
”6-12- 1091-2 3/3,” we said.
”Partyyy Quickkkkkk March!”
We all hibbled-hobbled out of step from the room, before the startled gaze of the s.h.i.+t.
A large warehouse with beds.
”Aye,” said a dopey room orderly. ”We not bin open long, you first lot we 'ad today.”
”What time's dinner?” we chorused.
”Ooo, seven o'clock till eight.”
We tried the dinner from seven to eight. It was b.l.o.o.d.y terrible.
”You going out after this?” said Jam-Jar.
”I don't think so,” said Fildes. ”I'm s.h.a.gged out walking.”
”I'm s.h.a.gged out eating that b.l.o.o.d.y food,” said Griffin. ”I think I'll have an early night.”
”Yes,” I said, ”why don't you all try your silk stockings on?”
The dopey room orderly is putting black-outs up at the windows. One miserable yellow bulb cast a depressing gloom around the room. We are all in bed when the air-raid warning goes. We all sit up.
”What are we supposed to do?” said Wenham.
”We're supposed to be frightened,” I said, ”quick, put your silk stockings on!”
There was no sound of planes, and I fell asleep not knowing or caring. Tomorrow I must must buy some silk stockings. buy some silk stockings.
SUNRISE, NOVEMBER 28, 1943.
MY DIARY: MY DIARY: DID THE SAME TODAY AS WE DID YESTERDAY. VERY COLD, BUT SUNNY. MUST BUY SOME SILK STOCKINGS. DID THE SAME TODAY AS WE DID YESTERDAY. VERY COLD, BUT SUNNY. MUST BUY SOME SILK STOCKINGS. FILDES' DIARY: FILDES' DIARY: Leave today at two o'clock Leave today at two o'clock.
We all lay in bed long after breakfast, anything to avoid it. We drive back into Naples, and after half an hour in the Army and Navy Club, we are off. Driver Kit Masters says we should be back by about ”I don't know when.”
”Forty-eight hours! we spent fourteen fourteen of them at the Transit Camp,” estimates Griffin, ”and how long did we spend in Naples? of them at the Transit Camp,” estimates Griffin, ”and how long did we spend in Naples? Four b.l.o.o.d.y hours Four b.l.o.o.d.y hours, it's all b.a.l.l.s, we had absolutely no time for perversions.”
”We'll do some on the way back,” I said kindly.
On that cold b.u.mpy muddy ride back there were no perversions other than a 'Jimmy Riddle' over the tailboard. We arrived at Teano, there's a G.o.d Almighty hold up, long lines of trucks are ahead of us, the drivers outside banging their hands on their sides to keep warm.
FILDES' DIARY: FILDES' DIARY: We got out and picked oranges and looked at the appalling damage to the town. An old man even excreted in the street with no comment We got out and picked oranges and looked at the appalling damage to the town. An old man even excreted in the street with no comment.
I don't understand! ORANGES ORANGES in midwinter? What had Fildes been drinking? and, c.r.a.pping in the street with 'no comment'? I mean, what was the old man supposed to say? Ole! in midwinter? What had Fildes been drinking? and, c.r.a.pping in the street with 'no comment'? I mean, what was the old man supposed to say? Ole!
We are off again, soon the sound of the guns comes wafting. It's pitch-black outside, it's pitch-black inside, there's no choice.
”So that was Naples,” said Fildes, ”I can't believe it, all this switching from civilisation to war, it's hard to get it together.”
The luminous ends of the cigarette are dancing in the dark. One flies out the back as its usefulness ends. We arrive back 'home' at eight o'clock, s.h.a.gged. We make for the cook-house; after a mess-tin of steaming M & V,* we turn in; it's very cold tonight, I sleep in my battle dress. Outside the rata-clack-squeak of tanks going north. *M & V. Meat and Veg.
NOVEMBER 29, 1943.
”Wakey, wakey.”
My watch says 0500 hours.
”Wakey, wakey my a.r.s.ey, why don't you f.u.c.key wuckey offey?” is my clear language reply.
Oh dear, it's no use, it's Sergeant King, he says, ”You are goin' hup the Ho-Pee-it's only for twenty-four hours.”
”That's long enough to get killed,” I said.
In Sherwood's bren carrier I travel a fifteen-mile road to Sipichiano. At times we are in full view of Jerry. He doesn't sh.e.l.l us. But you have that feeling that any minute he will and that's like being sh.e.l.led.
”How come they picked you?” said Sherwood.
”I wasn't quick enough.”
Whee-crashhh!