by Ray Rigby
“Get in there,” said Williams and pushed him.
Roberts walked into the cell and waited, not taking his eyes off Williams for a second. Then he saw two grinning Staffs join Williams and all three walked towards the cell and Roberts cursed himself under his breath and made a rush for the cell door, but too late. The Staffs blocked the way so Roberts backed away to the far wall and waited.
Williams shut the cell door and took off his cap and tossed it into the corner of the cell and the other two screws did the same. “Me first.” Williams made a sudden dive at Roberts but Roberts smashed him in the face and sent him reeling back. One of the screws hiding behind the protection of his arms, walked into Roberts, taking most of the blows on his arms and shoulders, and flattened him against the wall, the second screw moved in and grabbed one of Roberts’s arms and the two screws swung Roberts away from the wall by holding him by his arms. Roberts got one arm free and hit a screw and sent him staggering away and then butted the other in the face with his head.
Then all three were on him aiming blows and kicks. Roberts hit out blindly but most of his blows missed and he reeled from one wall to the next, and the blood from his broken nose and badly cut mouth made breathing difficult. He fell to his knees and curled up as they started kicking him then he was pulled up by his arms and turned towards Williams, and Williams moved in and measured him and punched him in the guts and Roberts’s knees buckled and he leaned forward and Williams hit him again and again and Roberts started shouting.
A mixture of fear and rage, and as he shouted he splashed blood over Williams and moved forwards, his rage giving him added strength and he pulled the screws along with him and got Williams pressed against the wall and butted him on the side of his face with his head before the screws pulled him away, and as Roberts was being pulled back Williams slammed his boot on Roberts’s ankle and Roberts let out a scream of pain and bent double as Williams pounded blows into his stomach and ribs, and when Williams stopped punching the screws released Roberts and he fell on his knees and then on to his face, then toppled over to his side and lay still.
Williams stood looking down at him rubbing his knuckles, a fixed grin on his face.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The prisoners finished breakfast. Porridge, bread, margarine and a pint of tea, and cleaned their dixies in the sand bucket. Then Bokumbo moved to the cell door and watched Tom, who was still sweeping the cell corridor, and called out to him. “Tom. Have you seen Roberts?”
Tom looked up and down the corridor before moving over to speak to Bokumbo. “The new screw took him for a walk.”
“Where, man?”
Tom winked. “To a lonely cell, you know.”
Bokumbo craned his neck to look down the corridor.
“I’ve seen this coming,” McGrath said.
Bokumbo was still glaring down the corridor and said, half to himself, “O.K. Williams. O.K.”
“Mack,” said Tom.
“Aw, beat it.” McGrath looked away.
“That lad’s gonner be in a bad way when he comes back, Mac.”
“Shut your mouth.” Bokumbo tried to grab Tom through the bars but Tom skipped back.
“What’s up, Jacko? All I’m saying is he’ll be needing a smoke when he comes back. They all need a smoke, that’s the first thing they ask for when they come back.”
“That’s damn clever of you to work that out,” snarled Bokumbo.
“O.K. O.K. If you’re well supplied.” Tom moved away.
Bartlett ran to the cell door. “Well supplied. Who you kidding?”
“Make up your minds now.” Tom moved nearer to the door.
“We’re on the floor and that’s a fact,” McGrath said.
“Well.” Tom scratched his chin and looked both ways along the corridor. “I’ve had a few contributions for them two darkies that’s gonna be shot for being a bit too friendly with those nurses, remember?”
“So what?” McGrath said.
“Well, seeing this lad Williams is bending one of us — ”
Bokumbo looked at Tom in disgust, spat on the floor and walked away.
“Dirty black bastard,” said Tom. “You can’t house train them.”
“You’ve got some weed to spare, eh Tom?” McGrath enquired.
“If them two black boys wasn’t being shot,” said Tom, “I wouldn’t give them a smoke. Piss in the comers if you’d let them.”
“Have you any weed, Tom?”
“All nig-nogs are the same, Mack. Dead bloody ignorant.”
“He’s got nothing,” said Bartlett.
“That so? There’s some good fellers here. Not all like you.”
“That’s big-hearted of you, Tom. Pass some over.” McGrath pushed his hand through the bars.
“Not all,” Tom said. “Not at all. If we can’t help a fella in distress now.”
“O.K. O.K. Pass the snout over,” Bartlett said.
“I mean ter say,” said Tom squinting down the corridor, “any of us could be in that plight.”
“Aye. That’s true,” McGrath agreed.
“Quick before one of the screws ... ” Bartlett pushed his hand through the bars.
“Any of you could. The way you’re carrying on.”
“You can forego the lecture,” McGrath snapped.
“O.K.,” said Tom. “But the next time I ask for a bit of help for the distressed, I hope you’ll be a bit more co-operative.”
McGrath nodded. “I get the point.”
“Shut up gassing and pass the snout over,” said Bartlett.
“Well,” Tom said. “It’s a good cause so put me down for a tin of fifty Players.”
“Eh?” said McGrath.
“And a box of Corona Corona cigars,” Tom cackled.
McGrath and Bartlett in their rage tried to pull the cell door off its hinges.
“I’ll do you over,” snarled Bartlett.
“You jail rat,” shouted McGrath, “wait till I get my spanners on you.”
“It’s for a good cause.” Tom tottered away spluttering with laughter.
Bokumbo leaned against the wall shaking with laughter. McGrath turned on him. “And what the hell are you laughing at?”
“And think of your benefactor as you smoke them,” yelled Tom from some distance down the corridor.
Bokumbo laughed even louder.
“It’s a big joke, ain’t it, Jacko,” yelled Bartlett. “A big joke.”
Bokumbo stood up and looked at Bartlett and still laughing he nodded his head.
“Then give over about it,” said McGrath. “I wouldna say I’ve all the time in the world for Roberts but to laugh at the plight he’s in.”
Bokumbo looked at McGrath and stopped laughing. “So you’re worried about Roberts? Man, now, that is something to laugh about.”
“Don’t you start.”
“If Roberts dropped dead you wouldn’t give a damn.”
“I said I’ve little time for him, Bokumbo, but I wouldn’t laugh at the thought of him being done over by Williams.”
“That’s big of you, Mack, now you listen. Two men are being shot and you and Monty have been killing yourselves laughing.”
“Are you making comparisons?”
“That is so. I am making comparisons.”
“Then don’t.”
Bokumbo said very quietly, “Tell me why.”
“Because the fellers being shot are just two dirty bloody animals.”
“Easy ... careful what you say, Mack.”
McGrath glared at Bokumbo. “Just give me the chance to be one of the firing squad.”
“Don’t hold nothing back, Mack. Come on, say it. Say what you mean.”
“And I’d want to know it was me had the bullet up the spout.”
Bokumbo was still holding himself in but his voice had thickened. “I’m waiting for you to say it, man.”
Both moved restlessly up and down at opposite ends of the cell.
“You compare Roberts with them?�
�� Mack shouted.
“I’m waiting for you to say it, Mack.”
“Aw, you two,” said Bartlett, “come off it. We don’t want no trouble.”
“The kind of dirty animal that would rape a woman,” snarled McGrath.
“What kind? You describe to me what kind.”
“Mack,” pleaded Bartlett, “don’t start a fight. We’ll be all bleeding day on that hill if you start a fight now and we’ve got a date with the Commandant.”
McGrath stood still then gave this a moment’s thought and calmed down a little. But he hadn’t finished with Bokumbo yet. “You want to get one thing straight,” he said.
“Tell me,” said Bokumbo.
“The crime is rape.”
“Rape. Sure.” Bokumbo nodded his head. “That’s so bad that two men have to be shot for it.”
“Two innocent girls. But we know how your bloody mind works.”
“Two white girls.” Bokumbo glared at McGrath. “That is the crime. White girls raped by black men.”
“Stop it you two, will yer?” Bartlett looked scared.
“Aye,” said McGrath. “That’s a crime to my way of thinking.”
“Sure, Mack, sure. But say they’d been black girls raped by white men, would you care? Would you, hell! That would be a laugh.”
“You’d let them two darkies loose on the streets again, I suppose.”
“No, Mack. I’d give them the same punishment you’d give a white man.”
“Och. You carry a chip on your shoulder.”
“That’s true,” agreed Bokumbo, “and people like you helped to put it there.”
Both calmed down a little and the tension eased.
“Come on,” said Bartlett. “Let’s clean up this dump before Williams gets back.”
“He no wants to start on me,” said McGrath, folding his blankets. “He might come unstuck.”
Bartlett stopped work and looked at McGrath with an irritating grin. “Why you gonna stop ’im in his tracks?”
“Think I couldn’t?” McGrath stepped back and critically examined his blankets then knelt down again and smoothed out a few wrinkles with his hand.
Bartlett’s grin broadened and he winked at Bokumbo as he placed his spare pair of boots with their highly polished soles pointing upwards, on his ground sheet, then stepped back and examined them.
“Think I couldn’t?” enquired McGrath again, standing up as he looked at Bartlett.
“Give it a rest, Mack.”
“Aye. Give it a rest.” McGrath nodded his head. “You’ve no the manhood to fight for justice.”
“Listen to ’im,” laughed Bartlett. “Talking about justice.”
“You’ve no mother and father, is that right. Monty?”
“So what, me old mate?”
“All I’m saying is that you got dumped in a home as a wee baby. That means even your mother didna want you and no doubt your father was a hit-and-run driver.”
Bartlett knelt down and pounded his pack until it was a perfect square then glanced up at McGrath and laughed. “I know I’m a bastard.”
“Aye, you’ve had a raw deal.”
“‘Ere,” laughed Bartlett. “They used ter give us flag waving sessions at the ’Ome and the Guv’nor give us talks about the old Empire and King and country and all that cobblers. It killed us. Fancy trying to teach love and honour thy country to a shower of bastards.” He laughed until the tears spilled out of his eyes. Then McGrath and Bokumbo joined in and they all laughed until they choked. “Give over,” McGrath gasped finally. “Give over, you wee comic bastard. We’ve work to do.” They worked on in silence for a time then Bartlett said, “Ere, Roberts is gonna need a smoke. I’ve still got a couple.”
“Aye. Need a hospital bed I shouldn’t wonder.”
“Might learn ’im to keep his big trap shut eh, Mack?”
“Maybe and maybe not.” McGrath stood up again and nodded his head, well satisfied that his kit would pass inspection. “He’s far round the bend that one.”
“Yeah,” Bartlett agreed. “The trick cyclist would get bags a joy outta him.”
“Maybe this time Williams won’t get away with it,” said Bokumbo as he gave his mess tins a final polish.
“A prisoner’s word against a screw’s,” jeered Bartlett. “Give over.”
“A man can beat them.” Bokumbo carefully placed his mess tins on his ground sheet.
“ ’Ere he goes again,” Bartlett laughed.
“A man, I said. Do not get confused, Monty.”
“Yeah. I know who you mean. Jacko Bokumbo. The white man’s bloody burden.”
“A few more trips on that hill and you’ll be screaming for mercy, Jacko,” said McGrath. “So stop blowing.”
“That hill is pleasure,” said Bokumbo. “A man can get laughs on that hill. He can say to himself, God damn you, Staff. You will never beat me. I am a man and you won’t crack me. On that hill you can show them that you’re a man.”
Bartlett looked at Bokumbo and decided that he was going raving mad. Here’s another one, he groaned inwardly. Here’s another going round the bend.
Bokumbo straightened up. “But standing to attention in front of Staff.” He marched down the cell and stamped to attention facing McGrath. “Smelling your own stinking sweat and listening to insults. You, black boy! You nigger! A man must not take that and still call himself a man.”
McGrath looked at Bokumbo’s stern glistening black face and in his embarrassment he wanted to laugh out loud. Instead he nodded his head as if to indicate that he was in complete agreement with Bokumbo. ‘Had his chips,’ he thought. ‘He’s going pure daft, this one. They’re all going. I’m the only one still in my right mind.’
Bokumbo was totally unaware of McGrath. He stared through him and thought. ‘I’m right, I speak the truth. I can take the hill. I can take the punishment. I have proved that I am a man. Then why do I take the insults? All my life I have taken insults and smiled. Why? No more. I will take no more insults. If this war has taught me anything, it’s taught me that I am as good as the next man, no better and no worse but as good as a white man.’
Suddenly he felt very angry. ‘Always you come back to that, Jacko. To the bloody white man. Why do you make these damn comparisons? To hell with the white man. You are as good as any black man and a good black man is as good as any white man and that is God’s own truth.’ But as he thought this he still wandered uneasily what he would do the next time his manhood was challenged.
“Another one going round the bend,” Bartlett raved. “Look at ’im doing ’is bleeding drills in the cell now.”
“When you’re in uniform,” said McGrath, “you jump to orders and you take insults.”
“These spick and span Staff,” Bokumbo spat out the words, “these Brylcream soldiers insult the king by their actions.”
“O.K.,” said McGrath. “It’s too tough for you.”
“The insults are too tough.”
“I’d like to see you up front one of these fine days.”
“I’ve been up front, Mack.”
“The day you see me up there, mate,” said Bartlett, “you’ll know the war’s over.”
“Aye. If I ever see you up there I’ll shoot you.”
Williams, standing in the corridor, rattled his keys against the bars of the cell door and the prisoners stopped talking and looked at Williams as he unlocked the cell door. There was a pause before the prisoners heard faltering footsteps and then Roberts hobbled into the cell.
He leaned against the wall and his face screwed up with pain as he placed his left foot on the floor then hobbled a few paces holding on to the wall until he reached his bed space. He sat down very carefully and turned his bruised and battered face towards the prisoners then closed his eyes and sat leaning forward, holding his stomach with his hands.
Williams stood in the open doorway rattling the keys in his hand then turned and looked at McGrath. “So you’ve been up front, have you?”
“Aye, and it’s a piece of cake compared to this dump.”
“All your fighting’s been confined to the back alleys after chucking out time,” said Williams. “I’ve seen your records so stop bragging.”
“Read them again,” McGrath said. “I’ve been up there and you bloody know it.”
“If you were the best England had,” sneered Williams, “we’d all be in chains. Right. Get your packs on.”
McGrath and Bartlett picked up their packs and slipped their arms through the straps and leaned forward and bounced their packs into a comfortable position on their backs and breathed in as they tightened their webbing belts.
Williams walked over to Roberts. “How do you feel now?” Roberts ignored him. Williams turned to Bokumbo and watched him struggling into his pack. “Get Roberts up. He’s coming with us.” He walked to the door and turned as he saw Bokumbo looking at him. “Who the hell are you looking at?” he shouted.
Bokumbo looked at Roberts sitting huddled forward holding his stomach then he looked at Williams again, but he didn’t speak.
“You’ve got five minutes.” Williams walked out of the cell and closed the door.
McGrath crouched down in front of Roberts and examined his face critically. “So Williams reckons you’re fit for another go over the hill, does he?”
Roberts stared back at McGrath then nodded to his boot.
“Unlace it, Mack. But go easy.”
McGrath carefully unrolled the puttee around Roberts’s ankle and unlaced the boot. “Hold on. So Williams thinks you’re fit for the hill. He’s pure daft.”
Roberts grunted as a sharp pain seemed to set his ankle on fire then flashed up his leg to his stomach and made him feel sick and giddy. McGrath gently eased the boot off and kept talking as he rolled down the sock. “You’ve a lot to learn by the shape you’re in.”
Roberts swore. “Easy, Mack.”
Bokumbo handed him a cup of water and Roberts nodded his thanks.
“How many screws followed Williams into the cell?” McGrath enquired pleasantly.
“Two,” said Roberts and swore again.
McGrath took another critical look at Roberts’s battered face. “Three screws shouldn’t be too much of a handful. I bet you walked in and waited for them.”
“Get that sock off, Mack, and stop yapping.”
