idiot.’
‘Albert, you don’t think anyone could’ve killed Dooley, do you?’ I blurted, unable to keep it from him any longer.
‘What do you mean? If he hadn’t died from the blast?’ Albert replied. ‘I can’t think of many who’d want him to carry on living,
to be honest – apart from his mother and brothers, of course.’ He laughed. ‘Why, Frank?’
I had to tell him and so, with the exception of Hannah’s comments, I told Albert about what I’d witnessed at East Ham, who’d
said what and what I might have found on the body. But strangely to me, I must admit, he just shrugged, his eyes blank with
what looked like disregard. ‘So someone might have knocked him off? Probably with good reason.’
‘But, Albert,’ I said, ‘if he’s been murdered, whatever he was like in life, then . . .’
‘Marcus Cockburn said he died from the blast.’
‘Yes, but . . .’
Albert peered up at me hard. ‘Leave it, Frank,’ he said. ‘Do as you’re told and just get on with your life.’
It was almost word for word what one of our old sergeant majors had said to me when I’d questioned why a certain young man,
a supposed coward, was to beexecuted by, among others, me. My next words to poor old Albert were therefore bitter and furious. ‘What? Like we did in the
first lot, Albert?’ I said. ‘When we were asked to shoot little kids who were a bit frightened? Their families never ever
told the truth about their sons? Living a lie? It matters how people die, it matters that those who killed them suffer – like
I do, like all of us suffer who went out there into the mud and the blood and killed people.’
Albert put his hand wearily to his forehead and said, ‘I know. Look, Frank, I’m sorry.’
‘Yes . . .’
‘But, quite honestly, from what you’ve told me there’s nothing we can do,’ he said. ‘Cockburn’s made his decision. All the
rest, what you’ve said, is just people’s stories and opinions. The toff doctor has spoken so the working class have to shut
up.’ He sighed and then he smiled. ‘Anyway, I’d better get him over to my shop before Jerry turns up.’
I felt my whole body turn to stone. I couldn’t remember when I’d had an unbroken night’s sleep. Suddenly, coming on top of
my anger and frustration, the thought of another raid made me panic. ‘You think he will? In this mist?’
‘Just because Hitler couldn’t get many of them out of their pits last night don’t mean he won’t shift himself to put on a
good show tonight,’ Albert said. And then, wearily, he added, ‘Who knows what Jerry’s thinking, eh, Frank? Certainly not the
bleedin’ Government. Bastards!’
It was more of a twitch than an act of conscious movement that made me look first over my shoulder and then back at Albert
once again.
‘Be careful!’ I said. ‘We don’t know who might be listening!’
‘Couldn’t care less,’ Albert said defiantly. ‘I don’t think it’s treason to call those who can’t seem to protect us or even
care a bunch of bastards. Do you?’
‘No, but—’
‘They can put me in the nick if they like,’ Albert said. ‘What you said about the deserters in the first lot was right, Frank.
And I tell you, it’s still them and us today. War or no war, the rich against the poor. I mean, all them poor Jews they interned
– Harry Rabin, poor old Davy Klarfeld. Yeah, right bleedin’ Nazis they are!’ And then with one finger up at my face to emphasise
his point, Albert said, ‘This is what all wars are, Frank, and that’s a class war just like the last lot!’
I’d hated the stupid upper-class officers in the first lot just as much as Albert hates the Government. But for some reason
I’ve never been able to find it within me to feel quite so political about it. For me justice, for want of another word, is
more personal, as in my concern over Kevin Dooley and what might have happened to him. Also, I know it’s because
‘Albert, you don’t think anyone could’ve killed Dooley, do you?’ I blurted, unable to keep it from him any longer.
‘What do you mean? If he hadn’t died from the blast?’ Albert replied. ‘I can’t think of many who’d want him to carry on living,
to be honest – apart from his mother and brothers, of course.’ He laughed. ‘Why, Frank?’
I had to tell him and so, with the exception of Hannah’s comments, I told Albert about what I’d witnessed at East Ham, who’d
said what and what I might have found on the body. But strangely to me, I must admit, he just shrugged, his eyes blank with
what looked like disregard. ‘So someone might have knocked him off? Probably with good reason.’
‘But, Albert,’ I said, ‘if he’s been murdered, whatever he was like in life, then . . .’
‘Marcus Cockburn said he died from the blast.’
‘Yes, but . . .’
Albert peered up at me hard. ‘Leave it, Frank,’ he said. ‘Do as you’re told and just get on with your life.’
It was almost word for word what one of our old sergeant majors had said to me when I’d questioned why a certain young man,
a supposed coward, was to beexecuted by, among others, me. My next words to poor old Albert were therefore bitter and furious. ‘What? Like we did in the
first lot, Albert?’ I said. ‘When we were asked to shoot little kids who were a bit frightened? Their families never ever
told the truth about their sons? Living a lie? It matters how people die, it matters that those who killed them suffer – like
I do, like all of us suffer who went out there into the mud and the blood and killed people.’
Albert put his hand wearily to his forehead and said, ‘I know. Look, Frank, I’m sorry.’
‘Yes . . .’
‘But, quite honestly, from what you’ve told me there’s nothing we can do,’ he said. ‘Cockburn’s made his decision. All the
rest, what you’ve said, is just people’s stories and opinions. The toff doctor has spoken so the working class have to shut
up.’ He sighed and then he smiled. ‘Anyway, I’d better get him over to my shop before Jerry turns up.’
I felt my whole body turn to stone. I couldn’t remember when I’d had an unbroken night’s sleep. Suddenly, coming on top of
my anger and frustration, the thought of another raid made me panic. ‘You think he will? In this mist?’
‘Just because Hitler couldn’t get many of them out of their pits last night don’t mean he won’t shift himself to put on a
good show tonight,’ Albert said. And then, wearily, he added, ‘Who knows what Jerry’s thinking, eh, Frank? Certainly not the
bleedin’ Government. Bastards!’
It was more of a twitch than an act of conscious movement that made me look first over my shoulder and then back at Albert
once again.
‘Be careful!’ I said. ‘We don’t know who might be listening!’
‘Couldn’t care less,’ Albert said defiantly. ‘I don’t think it’s treason to call those who can’t seem to protect us or even
care a bunch of bastards. Do you?’
‘No, but—’
‘They can put me in the nick if they like,’ Albert said. ‘What you said about the deserters in the first lot was right, Frank.
And I tell you, it’s still them and us today. War or no war, the rich against the poor. I mean, all them poor Jews they interned
– Harry Rabin, poor old Davy Klarfeld. Yeah, right bleedin’ Nazis they are!’ And then with one finger up at my face to emphasise
his point, Albert said, ‘This is what all wars are, Frank, and that’s a class war just like the last lot!’
I’d hated the stupid upper-class officers in the first lot just as much as Albert hates the Government. But for some reason
I’ve never been able to find it within me to feel quite so political about it. For me justice, for want of another word, is
more personal, as in my concern over Kevin Dooley and what might have happened to him. Also, I know it’s because
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