deprecating way, 'not bad, sir. You get
browned off, a'course, but it's got its moments.'
Arnold had been
one of those stranded in Cairo and had to find his battalion. He had no
certainty he would do so. 'Never know what's happened when you're away. Don't
want to start with a fresh mob, not when you're used to your own lot.'
This statement
conveyed a sense of confusion ahead and Simon asked, 'How do you find your way
around in the desert?'
The corporal
laughed. 'You get a feel for it, sir.' The sun rose above the cab roof and
mirage hid the sand. The sky, if anyone could bear to look at it, had the
molten whiteness of mid-day. They touched on the edge of a town. It was like a
holiday scene with small, white villas, date palms and walls hung with purple
bougainvillaea, then came the white dazzle of sand and a sea, in bands of green,
blue and violet, that seemed more light than water. They passed abandoned camping
sites where regimental flags hung over emptiness, then drove between two
shallow lakes, one of them green, the other raspberry pink, both dotted with
floating chunks of soda. Simon could not hide his astonishment 'What a weird
place!"
'It's only Alex,
sir.'
Outside the town,
Arnold tentatively asked, 'Time to brew up, sir?"
'Good heavens,
yes. I should have thought of it, shouldn't I?'
'That's all
right, sir.'
The red flag was
hoisted and the convoy drew into the side of the road. Numbers of army trucks
and cars were going east. It seemed that that day only the convoy was going
west. Looking down its length, Simon saw Major Hardy getting out of his car.
The major was merely a passenger to the front but Simon, with no great
confidence in his own power to command, felt it would be politic to treat him
as if he were in charge. As Simon strolled down to the car, the major, spreading
a large-scale map out over the bonnet, lifted a dark, lined face with a bar of
black hair on the upper lip and gave him a stare of acute irritation. Simon
started to introduce himself but Hardy interrupted him. 'Your section's brewing
up. Better get back to see fair play.'
The sergeant,
whose glum, folded face was kippered by the sun, was demonstrating, with an air
of long-suffering, how to make a fire and boil water for the brew. The new men
looked on as two large stones were set up to form a hob for the brew can, which
was a cut-down petrol can. The water came from the convoy's reserves but the
sergeant said sternly, 'You don't use it, see, if you can get it from anywhere
else.' He packed scrubwood between the stones and set it alight. Down the convoy,
other fires were being started for other sections. At intervals, at the
roadside, groups of men stood and watched for water to boil.
'Now,' said the
sergeant, 'y'puts in yer tea, see.' He broke open a case of tea and threw two
large handfuls on to the boiling water. 'Right. Now y'lifts it off, see.' He
lifted the can as though his dry, brown hands were insulated against heat.
'Right. And now - where's yer mugs?'
The mugs stood
together on the sand, a concourse of mugs, one for each man in the section and
a couple over. Vincent trailed condensed milk from mug to mug, giving an inch
or more of milk, and then the sergeant splashed the brew can over them. The
men, picking up their tea mugs, moved into groups as though each had sorted out
the companions natural to his kind. Already, Simon thought, they had ceased to
be a collection of strangers and soon they would be wedded into twos and threes
of which each member belonged to the others as he had belonged to Trench and
Codley. Feeling himself solitary and apart, he looked for Arnold but Arnold had
his own friends, men who had been with him, stranded, in Cairo. The sergeant
brought over one of the spare mugs and two bully beef sandwiches. 'Spot of
char, sir?', then remained beside Simon who, deeply gratified, asked him where
he had been before he went on leave. 'Mersa. The jerries were just outside.'
'Where do you
think they are
browned off, a'course, but it's got its moments.'
Arnold had been
one of those stranded in Cairo and had to find his battalion. He had no
certainty he would do so. 'Never know what's happened when you're away. Don't
want to start with a fresh mob, not when you're used to your own lot.'
This statement
conveyed a sense of confusion ahead and Simon asked, 'How do you find your way
around in the desert?'
The corporal
laughed. 'You get a feel for it, sir.' The sun rose above the cab roof and
mirage hid the sand. The sky, if anyone could bear to look at it, had the
molten whiteness of mid-day. They touched on the edge of a town. It was like a
holiday scene with small, white villas, date palms and walls hung with purple
bougainvillaea, then came the white dazzle of sand and a sea, in bands of green,
blue and violet, that seemed more light than water. They passed abandoned camping
sites where regimental flags hung over emptiness, then drove between two
shallow lakes, one of them green, the other raspberry pink, both dotted with
floating chunks of soda. Simon could not hide his astonishment 'What a weird
place!"
'It's only Alex,
sir.'
Outside the town,
Arnold tentatively asked, 'Time to brew up, sir?"
'Good heavens,
yes. I should have thought of it, shouldn't I?'
'That's all
right, sir.'
The red flag was
hoisted and the convoy drew into the side of the road. Numbers of army trucks
and cars were going east. It seemed that that day only the convoy was going
west. Looking down its length, Simon saw Major Hardy getting out of his car.
The major was merely a passenger to the front but Simon, with no great
confidence in his own power to command, felt it would be politic to treat him
as if he were in charge. As Simon strolled down to the car, the major, spreading
a large-scale map out over the bonnet, lifted a dark, lined face with a bar of
black hair on the upper lip and gave him a stare of acute irritation. Simon
started to introduce himself but Hardy interrupted him. 'Your section's brewing
up. Better get back to see fair play.'
The sergeant,
whose glum, folded face was kippered by the sun, was demonstrating, with an air
of long-suffering, how to make a fire and boil water for the brew. The new men
looked on as two large stones were set up to form a hob for the brew can, which
was a cut-down petrol can. The water came from the convoy's reserves but the
sergeant said sternly, 'You don't use it, see, if you can get it from anywhere
else.' He packed scrubwood between the stones and set it alight. Down the convoy,
other fires were being started for other sections. At intervals, at the
roadside, groups of men stood and watched for water to boil.
'Now,' said the
sergeant, 'y'puts in yer tea, see.' He broke open a case of tea and threw two
large handfuls on to the boiling water. 'Right. Now y'lifts it off, see.' He
lifted the can as though his dry, brown hands were insulated against heat.
'Right. And now - where's yer mugs?'
The mugs stood
together on the sand, a concourse of mugs, one for each man in the section and
a couple over. Vincent trailed condensed milk from mug to mug, giving an inch
or more of milk, and then the sergeant splashed the brew can over them. The
men, picking up their tea mugs, moved into groups as though each had sorted out
the companions natural to his kind. Already, Simon thought, they had ceased to
be a collection of strangers and soon they would be wedded into twos and threes
of which each member belonged to the others as he had belonged to Trench and
Codley. Feeling himself solitary and apart, he looked for Arnold but Arnold had
his own friends, men who had been with him, stranded, in Cairo. The sergeant
brought over one of the spare mugs and two bully beef sandwiches. 'Spot of
char, sir?', then remained beside Simon who, deeply gratified, asked him where
he had been before he went on leave. 'Mersa. The jerries were just outside.'
'Where do you
think they are
Similar Books
