大象传媒

(Part two of Harry Bank's war story, as told to his daughter)

But the 2 years passed and at last we sailed for Burma. Off Cape Bon in the Mediterranean Sea, Nazi torpedo bombers swooped on our convoy, sinking several ships. they came in low, firing cannon, and we heard the shelll ding along the steel hull. Our gnners returned the fire by bringing down two bombers. The air was filled with bangs and flashes. We felt as though we were getting into the war at last, but during a phase in East Africa we prepared for inspection we paraded at 7 am, but the General did not arrive intil midday. Carrying a long staff and followed by a tail of lesser authority he walked along the ranks, now and then pausing to ask the questions that Brass Hats ask of the troops. Near me stood a sad looking man called Copack. He was the company wag. The General stopped and asked "Were you sick coming over on the boat?"
Copack pursed his lips, and is moustache rose in a hairy inverted V. "Not 'alf as bloody sick as I 'ave been waitin' for you" he told the General. The snake of authority froze, but the General only laughed and asked a few more questions.
Just after this parade I had an arguement with a Corporal. He was a sloppy soldier but a clever tody. Once again, but for the last time as it turned out, I stood with officers outside the orderly room charged with insolence to an N C O. The R S M, a bemedalled giant of the first war, came to inspect the "prisoners". He told us that the young Captain in temporary command was a martinet.
I got 7 days detention in the military prison at Nairobi. Life was spartan hard in detention. you rose at 5am and scrubbed the cell. You were driven to exhaustion at drill and work, every privilege withdrawn. Drill in the tropical sun ended just 5 minutes before tea time. This 5 minutes was for a shower, so you had to dress wet ot forfeit tea. Then you were locked solitary in your cell until 5 the next morning.

These long sessions in the cell were the first real opportunities for reflection I had ever had. Before life had been full of noise and activity. The din of soldiering or the thunder of Uncle George, Jake and Minnie, Hitler and the war. I had time to reflect on the many good men of all classes I had met in the army. In the long, silent hours I realised the great kindness and tolerance displayed by many of the busy, harrassed old soldiers towards myself and other young rebels. A more mature patriotism began to form in my mind, a practical appreciation of good things British. A warm regard for my countrymen of all classes, who had shelved political differences, and closed ranks against the dark forces of evil which straddled the world. Men who could discipline themselves for war, but in whose wake walked the Gestapo. I though of our new platoon commander 鈥� a tall, skinny, pink-faced boy. He stammered and blushed easily, did his difficult, dangerous job quietly and well, and was to retain his natural good manners through all the trials of Burma. He seemed to me a King Sized soldier.

I left the detention barracks to find there was no transport available for 2 days, so I went to the YMCA where I was shown a comfortable room, the sat down eagerly to the first tasty meal for a week. Afterwards I went for a walk in Nairobi, but a blister on my heel hurt badly. I got into a native taxi and asked where the nearest Doctor was. A striking woman of about 35 answered my knock. Her bright blue eyes regarded me with easy assurance. Female curves shimmered beneath her immaculate white two-piece. I was nineteen, super-fit from infantry life, and I had not talked to a woman for a year; no wonder I stammered my request.

She was the Doctor鈥檚 receptionist. Inside the bungalow she fetched hot water and lint, punctured the blister and bandaged it. As she worked, she talked in a bored, but friendly tone. The Doctor was a way for a couple of days. How did I like the East? What was I doing in Nairobi? I told her. 鈥淗ow long have you got?鈥� she asked. 鈥淭wo days鈥� I replied, gazing at her, unable to conceal a look of frank desire, which she returned with one of amused supplication. 鈥淪end the taxi away鈥� she said. Thirty six hours later she drove me to Nairobi station in a battered saloon. I understood why Nelson almost deserted his ship for a mistress.

I returned to the regiment exited by the move to Burma. Hitherto, reading had not interested me. Now I read anything I could find. I read on the troopship, on the paddleboat that took us to Bramaputra, on the train that rolled to a stop at Dimapur, railhead of the Fourteenth Army.

Colonel Gomme-Duncan had been right. We saw plenty of action. It was great to have a real job to do. The Fourteenth was one of those armies that buzzed with a common purpose, a family unit. Though commanding the biggest single army in history, Mountbatten and Slim were not remote names; but men whose rare gift of leadership made the last private soldier feel engaged in a worthwhile task.

We saw the action we craved. The long jungle marches, fighting throughout the monsoon, our supplies coming by air. The bombardments and night skirmishes. Death, sudden and violent by bullet or shell, slower and more horrible by disease. Busy and interested I was soon promoted to Colour Sergeant. My instinct to see action had been right, but not for the boyish dreams of the Cadet Corps, though I realised these. The worthwhile thing was that rare camaraderie of men who share all hopes, disappointments and fears. Who sat round the fire in many a jungle bivouac, swore together or sang together on many a long march. Often desperate, never hopeless. Men who would give you their shirt as they say.

And suddenly the 鈥楬鈥� bomb, and the great struggle was over. The relatively petty task of looking after Jack was before us. Sometimes, remembering the privations, the discomforts, I am filled with gratitude for the simple things. Food to eat, water to drink, a roof.

Other times I miss the united purpose, the unselfish spirit of those days, and the envy of those comrades of ours who fell in their prime, when their world was young, and they were brave, and believed in things.

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