by Ray Rigby
The wife and kids will have a thin time of it though. Well, Alice is working. She’ll just have to make the best of it. She’ll drop dead when she learns that I’m inside though. Good soldier Roberts inside. What about that? I’ll have to write to her and try and explain. Take some explaining though, won’t it? Well, she’ll just have to try and understand, that’s all. God. They certainly made a job of that hill. Well, that’s my war effort for a long time to come. The hill and humping rocks and digging holes. What a bloody joke. Good men dying up the front and I’ll be digging bloody great holes and filling them in again and doubling about like a lunatic. It’s enough to make anyone Bolshie.
The R.S.M. stopped pacing and followed Roberts’s blank stare and looked at the hill. “Taking an interest in the hill, Roberts?”
“Noticed it as I came in, sir.”
“We built it special. A few tons of sand and rock and a lot of labour and sweat. The prisoners built it.”
“That’s marvellous, sir. A great construction feat,” said Roberts cheerfully.
The R.S.M. nodded his head in agreement. “Watch out that you don’t get to know it too well.”
Roberts smiled. “I want no special privileges, sir.”
“It gets hot on the hill, Roberts. Hot.”
Roberts squinted at the hill then looked at Wilson with a pleasant smile. “It looks high from here. I fancy I can see snow on the top.”
The R.S.M. switched on his benign expression. “Plenty of lads fancies all kinds of things when they get on that hill. You’re showing great promise.” Carry on giving me lip, he thought, I’ll have the last word.
“Most of us nervous fellers are red hot when it comes to a bit of imagination,” said Roberts with his easy, cheerful smile. I know I’m pushing my luck, he thought, but to hell with you.
“Red hot is right,” agreed the R.S.M., pleasantly. “You’ll be one big red hot bloody blister after a couple of days on that hill and your imagination will tell you you’re in hell.”
Roberts squinted at the hill again. “Maybe I’ll know better after I’ve tried it, sir. For now I’m sticking for snow on the top and it leads to Never Never Land.”
Wilson moved very close to Roberts and said very quietly. “You’re dead set at having a go at it, ain’t you?”
“I can do without it, sir, but I think you’ve got plans for me.”
“I have. Every day I’m going to make you remember that you’re a soldier.” He moved on and stopped in front of Bokumbo, looked him up and down and then twitched his nose to express his disgust. “You like to drill with these men, Bokumbo?”
Bokumbo knew exactly what the R.S.M. meant. He stiffened. “Anything you order I can do, sir.”
“Something tells me these men are going over that hill. You like to go over that hill with them, Bokumbo?”
“That damn hill won’t beat me, sir.”
“Pity I won’t see it. You can’t drill with them. You’re black.”
Bokumbo tensed then suddenly laughed. “Blame my Mammy, sir. She forgot to put a sun canopy over me.”
Wilson smiled. “I don’t care what colour you are. A man’s skin’s an accident. But what’s inside ain’t.”
“That damn accident takes some living with sometimes,” said Bokumbo quietly.
“Get this,” rapped out Wilson. “I only take notice of one thing. The book, and King’s Rules and Regulations have it laid down in black and white that Hottentots, Basutos, Voodoo boys and sons of witch doctors, do their spell binding and square bashing separate, and away from white men.”
Williams grinned to himself as he shot a sidelong glance at the R.S.M. and then stared hard at Bokumbo. Very nice, he thought. Very nicely put that. I couldn’t do much better myself. That ought to get you going, you black, stinking, thieving, dirty-postcard maniac, bloody ape, you. In anticipation he moved forward until he was a pace in front of the R.S.M. and waited, with growing interest, for Bokumbo to answer back.
“I’m a British subject, sir. From the West Indies,” said Bokumbo with a gentle smile.
“You’re black,” said Wilson still trying to needle him.
Bokumbo’s smile was even more tolerant. “That makes me happy when I see some white men.”
“Answer back, would you,” snarled Williams. “Answer back, eh. You different-coloured bastard.”
Bokumbo looked at Williams and stopped smiling. “I spit man.” He cleared his throat and threw a gobble of spit at Williams’s feet.
“I’ll break you,” shouted Williams. “I’ll crack you right down the middle.”
“That’s enough out of you, Staff,” snapped the R.S.M.
Williams turned a face tight with rage. “When a nigger shoots his mouth off like that ... ”
“Over here.” The R.S.M. walked away.
Williams turned back to Bokumbo and lifted his arm and pointed a finger at him then controlled himself and walked over to the R.S.M.
R.S.M. Wilson stared hard at Williams. “Staff, the day I can’t handle men I’ll hand over to you. Meanwhile, when I take a parade, you keep your mouth shut.”
“He got under my skin, sir.”
“That’s a quick way to lose discipline. Remember what I’ve said.” The R.S.M. walked back to Bokumbo. “So you’re a British subject?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then you’ve got equal privileges. You can drill with these men and dance over that hill with them.”
“Be my pleasure, sir.” Bokumbo was grinning again.
Wilson smiled and looked at McGrath. “So we’ve two iron men, have we, eh? By Christ, you’ll both get rusty on that hill. Staff, see if the M.O.’s ready to inspect these men.”
“Yes, sir,” shouted Williams and doubled to the M.O.’s room, knocked on the door and entered.
“Commandant on his way, sir,” shouted the gate Staff.
The R.S.M. spun round and shouted back, “Over here, Staff, at the double.”
The gate Staff doubled the hundred and fifty yards at full speed and slammed to attention in front of Wilson.
“You’re new here, Staff, ain’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then listen. The Commandant, the King or General Montgomery can walk in here any time they like. I’ve got nothing to hide. Is that clear?”
“Sorry, sir. I thought ... ”
“Don’t think. I run this place. Me! The Commandant signs bits of paper. He’d sign his own death warrant if I put it on his desk. I run this place. Got that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Right. On the order, double back to the gate before we have a mass break out. Double!”
The Staff doubled flat out back to the gate and breathing heavily he put his cap on straight then opened the small door with a key and stood waiting.
The gate Staff slammed to attention and saluted as the Commandant strolled towards him and the Commandant casually acknowledged the salute and walked on. He stopped at the hill and squinted up at it then on a sudden impulse he took a run at it. But, about half way up, the thought occurred to him that it would be damn stupid for him, the Commandant, to be seen running on the hill, so he carefully picked his way down it again. Odd, he thought. There’s something rather fascinating about this hill. A challenge, I suppose. Then he smiled to himself. Don’t be such a bloody idiot. All anybody will ever get out of that is a muck sweat. He turned his back on the hill and walked towards the Medical Room and passed a squad of prisoners being drilled by Staff Harris.
“Eyes right. Twenty-eight prisoners all present and correct, sir. Eyes front,” barked Harris.
The Commandant returned the salute and walked on and stopped a few paces from Wilson and the prisoners, and waited.
Wilson shot a swift sidelong glance at the Commandant and pretended that he hadn’t seen him. The moment had arrived for his set speech. His jocular send off before he doubled the prisoners into the Medical Room and nothing must interfere with that. “If any of you are excused boots, pack drill, breath
ing, have six toes, two heads, are pigeon-chested, wall-eyed, still have to be breast fed or have a touch of the clap, speak up now?”
Bokumbo enjoyed the joke and laughed out loud. Stevens gave a weak little giggle and Bartlett decided that the best thing to do was humour the silly old sod, so he roared with laughter. But McGrath and Roberts remained deadpan and seemingly indifferent. Wilson smiled grimly to himself then swung round and gave the Commandant a splendid salute. “Five prisoners all present and correct, sir.”
The Commandant acknowledged the salute, nodded his head and walked away.
Williams doubled out of the M.O.’s room. “Ready for medical inspection, sir.”
“Right, Staff.” The R.S.M. turned to the prisoners. “Parade, parade ’shun. Let’s have that again and I want to see you move. Stand at ease. Parade, parade ’shun. Stand still. Still, I said. By God, I’ll have you all smartened up before the week’s out and in a bath. You stink! You all stink! Bokumbo, three paces forward march. Still, stand still. On the order of command you’ll double into the Medical Room and you’ll mark time. Got that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Everything’s done at the double inside here. You don’t walk. You double.”
Bokumbo grinned. “Sir. How can that medical officer examine me if I’m doubling?”
“He’s clever. He used to repair watches. Now take that grin off your face. You’ll mark time in front of him and at the word of command drop your trousers, make him jealous, and double out again. Got that?”
Bokumbo laughed again. “You never spoke truer words, sir. I’ve got my share.”
“Shut your trap. If you had less of that and more brains you wouldn’t be here. Now, let’s see you move Bokumbo. Forward double, lef right, lef’ right. Get them knees up. Get ’em up higher, higher I said.” Bokumbo and Wilson ran into the M.O.’s room.
Captain Markham seated at his table turned as the door opened and watched Bokumbo marking time.
“Keep marking time,” shouted Wilson. “Prisoner reporting for medical inspection, sir.”
“Name and number,” said Markham as he faced Bokumbo.
“736 Private Bokumbo, sir.”
“Shirt off.”
Still marking time Bokumbo pulled his shirt over his head and then wondered what he should do with it.
“Drop it on the floor,” snapped Markham, “and take your vest off.”
Bokumbo slipped out of his vest and dropped his clothes on the floor.
“Lift your arms in the air.” Markham looked under Bokumbo’s armpits, then at his chest. “Drop your arms. Open your fingers.” Markham examined between Bokumbo’s fingers. “Right, drop your trousers.” Bokumbo undid his shorts and dropped them. This made marking time rather more difficult but he did the best he could. “Turn around.” Bokumbo turned around. Markham examined his back. “Bend forward.” Jesus Christ, thought Bokumbo, bending forward and still doing his best to mark time. What’s he expect to find up there? “Any serious illnesses?” enquired Markham. Funny place to look for serious illnesses, thought Bokumbo. “No, sir.”
“V.D.?” asked Markham.
Bokumbo half turned to look at him.
“The Medical Officer will tell you when to turn,” said the R.S.M.
“No, sir,” said Bokumbo, “I’ve never had a packet.”
“Turn around,” said Markham and as Bokumbo turned he picked up his swagger cane and lifted Bokumbo’s penis with it and examined it.
“Don’t drop it with a crash, sir,” begged Bokumbo. “You might break my leg.”
“Shut up,” roared the R.S.M.
Markham smiled. “Get dressed. Passed fit, Sergeant-Major, for all punishment and duties. Next.”
“Forward,” shouted the R.S.M. Then even louder, “Mark time, you lunatic. You can’t double with your trousers hanging round your boots. Pull ’em up. Come on. Double.”
Laughing, Bokumbo ran through the open doorway. The R.S.M. picked up Bokumbo’s shirt and vest and followed him and threw the clothes into Bokumbo’s face. “Pick ’em up,” he shouted. “Don’t leave your rags laying around. You’re no bloody violet. Stevens, over here. Double. Get them knees up.” He chased Stevens into the Medical Officer’s room.
Bokumbo, still chuckling, turned to Roberts. “Medical inspection. Man the only place that crazy doctor inspected — . How come he can tell I’m A.1 by just looking at my secret weapon? Or maybe he’s a genius. If that’s how they judge health, old Willie’s the healthiest soldier in the British Army.”
“No talking,” said Williams.
“Yeah,” said Bokumbo. “He’d be the healthiest soldier in any damn army. Man, I’m well blessed, but Willie ... ”
“I told you no talking. Roberts. Bokumbo, you’re on a charge.”
“Roberts didn’t speak, Staff.”
“And don’t answer me back.”
“Staff,” said Bokumbo, “you charge me. That’s O.K. But this man didn’t say nothing.”
“Bokumbo, you’re a cert for a diet of bread and water unless you stop flapping that big trap of yours.”
“Staff,” said Bokumbo. “I told you he didn’t speak.”
“Och,” said McGrath. “Why the hell don’t you shut up, darkie. You’re giving me a headache.”
“All right, McGrath,” said Williams.
“Staff. I don’t want these two dropping me in it.”
Stevens ran out of the M.O.’s room with Wilson still chasing him and ranting away. “Stevens. What the hell’s the matter? Holding on to your pants like a young bint who still believes the yarns her mother told her.”
Stevens stopped to button up his shorts, looking on the ground too upset to speak.
“You ain’t made any different from anybody else, are you?” shouted Wilson. “Gawd. I’ve met all kinds in my time. Now you cut out this bashful virgin act. Ah!” He pushed Stevens. “Get out of my sight. Next, Staff.”
“Double over, McGrath,” said Williams.
The R.S.M. doubled McGrath into the M.O.’s room and Williams turned back to Roberts and Bokumbo. “You two had a great time of it with the R.S.M., but I’ll be looking after your welfare from here on and I’ll tell you now. I hate the bloody sight of the pair of you.”
Williams walked away and faced Stevens who had dressed himself but still looked embarrassed. Stevens looked on the ground.
“Haven’t made up my mind yet whether you’re fish or fowl,” said Williams.
Stevens sniffed but made no reply.
“One of those shy lads are you, Stevens?”
“It’s, well, sir, I — you see ... ”
“You what? One of those lads who can’t make up his mind if he’s a boy or girl, are you?”
“I’m married, sir.”
“Are you now? And who’s who in your little partnership?”
“If you think — ” Stevens looked upset. “We don’t have to be treated like this, do we? I mean, we aren’t animals.”
McGrath doubled out of the M.O.’s room followed by the R.S.M. “Next, Staff,” shouted Wilson.
“Double over, Bartlett,” said Williams, still looking at Stevens.
Bartlett doubled away and Williams stood for a long time staring at Stevens, then walked away and stood with his back to the prisoners.
Bokumbo looked at Williams’s broad back and smiled humorously to himself. Nothing Williams had said or done so far had impressed him very much. Bokumbo, like so many strong men, was by nature normally very easy-going. It took a lot to upset him. Insults, real or imagined, seldom affected him deeply. As a rule he would switch on an easy-going smile and put it down to the other man’s ignorance.
He felt sorry for Stevens. Indifferent to Bartlett, vaguely curious about Roberts, but it was McGrath that interested him most. He had summed him up the moment he had first seen him outside the Courts Martial centre and liked the way he had doubled out of the Court with a broad grin on his face after he had been sentenced. He knew a hard case when he saw one and ins
tinctively he respected McGrath.
The R.S.M. and Williams hardly interested him at all. They were screws and Bokumbo had the greatest contempt for screws. O.K. They had a job to do but what kind of a man takes on that kind of a job? Bokumbo yawned. Suppose they’ll make it tough. O.K. I can take it. He stopped yawning and he grinned again. He knew that he was strong and fit and the hill and the insults wouldn’t get him down. To hell with the screws. Who cares about screws? They bawl and shout but they don’t do any real damage.
He swivelled his eyes as the M.O.’s door opened with a crash and watched Bartlett, looking scared out of his wits, run out followed by the R.S.M. in a fury.
“Staff,” shouted the R.S.M. “I want this one scrubbed with a yard broom. He’s blacker than a darkie.”
Bokumbo’s grin widened. Remarks like that never bothered him.
“Yes, sir,” shouted Williams.
“Right. Next.”
Williams moved to Roberts and said very softly. “Mark time.”
The R.S.M. shouted “Double over here.”
Roberts was about to take off when Williams said still in a quiet voice, “You dirty snivelling rat. Who told you to move?”
Roberts halted and looked at Williams. The R.S.M. shouted even louder “You hear me, Roberts. Staff, what the hell’s going on?”
Williams grabbed Roberts and sent him flying. “Get over there when you’re told. Get over.”
Roberts fell on his knees then slowly stood up.
“Double,” yelled the R.S.M.
“Double,” yelled Williams.
Roberts dusted himself down then slowly walked towards the R.S.M. “You two want to make up your minds.” The R.S.M. grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, all prepared to heave him into the M.O.’s room. They struggled then stood glaring at each other. “I don’t know what kind of a vet he is, Sergeant-Major, but if he sees you belting me, you never know he might feel inclined to report it.”
Captain Markham stepped out of the M.O.’s room. “What’s going on here, Sergeant-Major?”
