A Soldier Erect Part 11

'What were you in Civvy Street, Jock?'

He did look at me then, for a moment. 'What that got to do with it? No, I've driven that Gor-Blimey of yours all round the place in my time. Him and me understand each other - I know him as well as I know the crabs on my own b.a.l.l.s! They officers manoeuvre for position, same as the rest of us. s.p.u.n.k Bucket's no more keen to soldier in Burma than what I am. In my form book, he's the likeliest officer in "A"

Company to w.a.n.gle a number on rear baggage party. So he'll pick the men he wants. So, he will want men he can trust, ginks who feel the same as he does. So, you'd better get yourself picked for rear detail, and fast!'

'And you?'

'I can look after myself.'

'How do I get myself picked ?'

'Christ, and you a f.u.c.king Signaller! Let him see you're a dodgey b.a.s.t.a.r.d too! I'm off now - through the bar, must have a pee! See you!'

He disappeared with surprising rapidity, dodging behind the bar and out the back before the Indian orderly could protest. I looked around. We had been the only two in the canteen at this relatively early hour. Now boots were approaching, marching smartly. Jock had heard them before I did. I was caught; Jock had vanished.

The door opened, there was a cry of 'Honey Pears', and Enoch Ford and Wally Page marched in, swinging their arms smartly right up to my table, some other squaddies pressing in behind them.

'Company, Company, halt! Company - wait for it! -Company, dis-MISS!'

As they fell themselves out, I told them they were in time to buy me another drink.

'Drinking on your f.u.c.king own now, Stubbs!' said Wally. 'You're after them b.a.s.t.a.r.d stripes back, don't tell me!'

'I was having a drink with Jock McGuffie.'

'Strewth, don't let him give you two sixpences for a s.h.i.+lling or you'll end up elevenpence short, I'm telling you. He wouldn't even tell you the correct time, Jock McGuffie.'

Enoch came over with the beers, slopping them as he came. Wally told him, 'Young Stubby has been drinking with Jock McGuffie.'

'He's a right one, he is! He wouldn't give you the time of day, wouldn't Jock. He never lifted owt off anyone, and that's as true as I'm standing here riding this bicycle. Wally'll tell you same.'

'I never believe a word either of you b.u.g.g.e.rs tell me.. He's all right, is McGuffie - knows how to look after himself.'

Wally settled comfortably down with his elbows on the table. 'Get some service in, f.u.c.king Stubbs! That little Scots b.u.g.g.e.r is all for Number One okay! He would have the f.u.c.king s.h.i.+rt off your f.u.c.king back.

You've been keeping some funny company lately - it's all them pox-ridden Wog G.o.ds, that's what it is.

Where were you last night when we were waiting to go down to the WVS?'

'He was out with the taffies,' Enoch said. 'You missed a b.l.o.o.d.y good evening, Stubby, you did! You missed b.l.o.o.d.y Betty Grable in her bath. I wouldn't mind slipping her a length, I tell you!' He made w.a.n.king movements up to his chest, banging the back of his neck at the same time. 'Wherrr! Git in there, n.o.bby!'

'I can see Betty Grable any time. That goes for her f.u.c.king bath, too - we've got f.u.c.king baths at home.'

'Then you're b.l.o.o.d.y lucky, mate, that's all I can say.' Enoch's big beaming flat face never lost its smile.

'Back in our house, we all have to take a turn under the kitchen tap, same as the neighbours. By Christ, that sort of thing is going to change after the war, let me tell you! The Communist Party's going to do something for those who've fought, or the blood'll run in the f.u.c.king streets!'

'All right, we all know you come from up North,' Wally said. Things ain't much better round our way.

We all washed in the kitchen same as you, and there was only one proper bed between the seven of us.'

Then it's about time you stopped voting for Churchill and that mob, i'n't it?' Enoch said.

'Churchill's okay - he knows the worth of the working man.'

'Up your flue! He was only shooting at them in the General Strike, that's all!'

'Old Blighty would have been defeated by the Krauts by now, but for Churchill, and don't you forget it!'

In these discussions, I was always put out of countenance, feeling I had not suffered enough. As I handed the cigarettes round, I cringed in case Enoch accused me of a capitalist gesture; but Enoch was a kind-hearted lad, and had no thought of embarra.s.sing me. He accepted my cigarette.

When he remarked that I had still not revealed where I had been the previous evening, I told them I got a lift into Indore. Wally pounced at once. 'Get knotted, Stubbs!

Indore's out of f.u.c.king bounds, for crying out loud. You know that! Officers only. No dogs or BORs.'

'I tell you I was in f.u.c.king Indore. You want to wash your ears out.'

Tuck off, mate! You never been to Indore in your natural!'

'I suppose that was sodding Blackpool I was in last night?'

'Honey Pears!' cried Enoch. 'I wish Blackpool was that near. I'd catch the first b.l.o.o.d.y train back to Werriton, I can tell you. You wouldn't see me for dust!'

'What was you doing in Indore, anyhow? s.h.a.gging your a.r.s.e off, I bet!'

'We just went over for a drink in Jock's gharri.'

'Drinking with the drivers, eh, Stubbs? You boozy b.a.s.t.a.r.d, your own f.u.c.king mates ain't good enough for you. That's it, eh? What was the beer like?'

'Good stuff.'

'p.i.s.s off! "Good beer", he says! You can't get good beer in India. Not like the jammy b.u.g.g.e.rp liberating Italy, guzzling down all that Kraut beer!'

'And f.u.c.king well f.u.c.king the I-tie girls!' said Enoch. This was a safer subject I joined in a chorus that we had already learnt by heart after only a few weeks in India.

They get f.a.gs flown out from England, and Yank rations and Yank beer. No wonder they are stuck where they are -they're too p.i.s.sed to fight!'

'And if you get wounded in Italy, they fly you back to Blighty - not like b.l.o.o.d.y Burma. You can die in Burma and do you think anyone at home cares? Not on your f.u.c.king nelly!'

Page leant impressively across the table. 'You got something there. You know what Lady Astor said in Parliament? - That every man-jack serving out in the East should have to wear a yellow badge when he got back to the Blight.'

'What, officers and all?' Enoch asked.

'No, you North Country twirp, not officers - squaddies! In case they had the pox.'

'And Churchill backed her up, I bet. She and him are thick as thieves. She's in and out of Chequers as if it was her own back yard! Do you think Churchill gives a s.h.i.+te for the Fourteenth Army?'

For once Wally looked disconcerted.

'I reckon they've written us off, back home, that's true.'

' 'Course they have - anyone'll tell you! You ask some of the blokes as walked out of Mandalay - they'll tell you. That's why they pinched all our landing craft! We're the Forgotten Army!'

There was the magic phrase, gaining by constant repet.i.tion, which held so many easy bitternesses: The Forgotten Army. Dwelling on our hard life, we left my evening adventure safely behind.

The canteen was filling up now. More of the squad crowded in at our table, easing their beer gla.s.ses through the crush and lighting up cigarettes. Soon we were discussing once more the way our landing-craft had been withdrawn; it was regarded as almost a personal insult. Carter the Farter alone expressed a different opinion.

'It's nothing to do with India and Burma if they take the whole b.l.o.o.d.y Royal Navy away from this theatre of war. You bods don't understand that we're involved in an Imperialist War. They're gathering as many vessels as possible round Europe and then, when Hitler's beaten, the Allies will attack Russia - you'll see!'

Only Enoch admitted this was possible. The rest maintained that we were being victimized. It was all somehow India's fault; India was to blame for everything. So we were launched on the familiar subject of ants, snakes, s.h.i.+te-hawks, p.r.i.c.kly-heat, and filth.

'It isn't as bad as all that!' I said.

'f.u.c.k off, Stubbs, we know you're going b.l.o.o.d.y native!' Wally said. 'You'd rather be stationed in Kanchapur than London, you would!'

'I'd rather be stationed in Kanchapur than on f.u.c.king Salisbury Plain!'

Jeers and laughter drowned me out. I looked round for support. Old Bamber stood sombrely behind us, supping his beer and saying nothing, his sleeves rolled up to reveal the riot of tattooing on his arms.

'You could be in worse places than Kanchapur, Bammy, couldn't you?'

'All countries are the b.l.o.o.d.y same,' he said. 'There ain't no difference between them, once you really gets to know them. It don't matter where you are. One place is just like another.'

But to most of us without Bamber's experience it mattered extremely where we were.

Rumours and fears stirred like dust in the camp. 'Soon you will be leaving, sahib,' Ali told me as I bought my morning mug of char from him. 'Six day, maybe seven, all men go and new intake come Kanchapur.'

'I thought we were seeing the war out right here! Where are we going, Ali?'

'j.a.panese very bad man, sah'b, all the while eat very much land, kill good men with the rifle and the bayonet. Mendip Regiment go stop them not come in India, kill all person all the same.'

'Burma? Are you sure?'

'Yes, sah'b. All Mendip go Burma land, kill j.a.panese soldier. You owe me Ali one rupee six, sah'b.'

'I'll pay you on Friday, Ali.'

'Yes, sah'b, thank you, sah'b - then no more credit. Credit pinish.'

So I went to see Captain Gore-Blakeley and applied for a refresher course in wireless-operating. I caught him at a bad moment, as he was leaving the company office.

'Bit late for a refresher course, Stubbs, isn't it? We may be moving into action soon, you realize that, I suppose, eh? Don't want to be left behind, do you ?'

'Of course not, sir.' Virtuously.

'Not that anyone is going to be left behind.' Off-handedly.

He moved into the intense sunlight, turning his back to me, but I tagged along.

*Your record is not one of the best, Stubbs.' Discouragingly.

'Ah, well, you see, that's just it, isn't it, sir?' Improvisingly.

'How do you mean, "That's just it"?' Disinterestedly.

'Well, sir, I mean I've had a run of bad luck, sir, losing my stripes and all that. Now we're on Overseas Service, sir, I want to pull myself together and make something of myself. I am a Regular, sir. I thought if there was a quick refresher course in New Delhi or somewhere....' Modestly.

'You're not stupid, are you, Stubbs?' Insultingly.

'Sir?' Insultingly.

'You aren't planning to become a proper wireless operator or anything, are you?' Coldly. We were moving across the parade ground; I was swinging my arms a bit and looking ahead with chin up in the approved manner, and finding it a ridiculous att.i.tude in which to conduct a conversation. There seemed no suitable answer to his question except to say again, 'Sir?' I injected a note of keenness into it, to be on the safe side.

'I'll see what I can do for you, Stubbs, but you understand I can promise nothing.' Surprisingly.

"Thank you, sir.' Surprisedly.

Tall out.' Inscrutably.

'Sir.' With a suitable dying fall.

I visualized myself in New Delhi, taking a long course by day, living with a beautiful and rich Indian girl by night, learning the language, a.s.similating the whole way of life -and of course getting stuck in every day. India was so vast, so complex - perhaps it would be possible, even for Army personnel, to disappear from mortal view into the life-enriching stews of its cities.

So I hoped, so I dreamed.

The gloomy fantasies of Stalin, the grandiose aspirations of Churchill, the calculations of Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek, had fluttered down through the lists to us, serving time in Kanchapur. They had clobbered our amphibious plan. Yet, even Without such a set-back, the Army could always operate under a system specially designed to annihilate anyone's time-sense. It punctuated long periods of inertia with sudden frenzied activity, in which everything had to be done - or half-done - in the shortest possible time.

You get switched from slow motion into rapid motion, and that was what happened to us in Kanchapur, half-way through March. Perhaps the Generalissimo had a bad night's sleep. As a result of these switches, you don't know -as the poetical phrase has it - whether it's a.r.s.ehole or breakfast time. Such is the advantage of the system, since what you are doing is generally insufferable by normal time standards.

Our days were measured out in cigarettes, half-smoked cigarettes, football games, and visits to the NAAFI, while we waited in the heat for everything to burst apart and be different. The lists were coming home to roost. And the j.a.panese were preparing their March on Delhi.

We kept fitting in one more visit to the canteen.

I was coming out of the canteen with Geordie when the wheels began to grind again. Geordie was telling me some complicated and inarticulate story about his and his father's adventures in the Vickers engineering works in Newcastle, where he worked as a clerk, when he interrupted himself, 'h.e.l.lo, here comes trouble! I'd better push off, mate - you won't want me. Here's the sergeant-major with invisible stripes, your friend and my friend - Jock McGuffie!'

This was said loud enough so that Jock, coming towards us with the brisk march he reserved for public places, could catch the gist of it.

'Aye, well, why aren't you young soldiers on parade or away blancoing your equipment? Ye'll get no promotion if you spend all your time boozing away in the canteen, young Geordie, I can tell you that.

Now, do you mind if I have a wee word in the ear of Stubbs, here?'

'Taking him off on another of your sort of wh.o.r.ehouse-bas.h.i.+ng, Jock?'

'Och, away to your mither's b.r.e.a.s.t.s, sonny boy!'

Geordie nodded unhappily to me and walked off. Since communication was strictly codified, major meaning was conveyed non-verbally. The form of exchange between Jock and Geordie was entirely traditional, like so many of our exchanges; you took the meaning from the tone of voice and, more importantly, facial expression and gestures - they were what determined whether the intention was friendly or hostile. Geordie was definitely hostile to Jock - as far as he was definite about anything - while Jock could never be said to be friendly to anyone in any ordinary sense of the word.