- Contributed byÌý
- Genevieve
- People in story:Ìý
- Alexander "Jock" Donaldson
- Location of story:Ìý
- East Africa
- Background to story:Ìý
- Army
- Article ID:Ìý
- A4807190
- Contributed on:Ìý
- 05 August 2005
Retreat
Our Brigade, 22 East African Infantry, about to entrain for Burma, route-marched several miles to the nearest railhead. It seemed like fifty miles to me! Our unit was at the rear, being, as they thought, the least fit, followed by my officer driving a lorry to pick up the dead and dying.
I loved to get our askaris singing but, before we staggered into the camp, I saw the Infantry about to jeer and laugh at us unfit Workshop wallahs. I called on my gang for one last song. Although exhausted, they sang, and we were cheered like mad. I was very proud of them.
The next day we boarded the train for Mombasa with many stops en route to the coast. Usually the locals were there to greet any trains arriving, selling things like food or fruit. At one stop, I was ordered to keep the civvies from coaxing the askaris to ‘do a runner’.
Pick-handle in hand, the Young White Boss, looking fierce, shouted ‘Quenda’ (‘Go’) or ‘Toka Hapa’ (‘Go from here’). To my surprise, it worked - except for one young girl who, realising that I was not a real bwana, carried on chatting up the askaris who were giving money for a quick cuddle. She was very good looking. I asked her politely to leave. Instead, she advanced towards me to the cheers of the entire train. My so-called mates offered advice that was of no use, while she came even closer, asking if I wished to hit her with my stick! I tamely replied ‘No’ but I was following the orders of the Bwana Mkubwa (the Big Boss).
To the amusement of the whole train, I continued to retreat. As she got even closer, I was about to run away when the C.O. let out a roar, rushed up with his leather covered stick and whacked the bibi on the rump. She recognised a real bwana when she saw one! She was laughing at the time, otherwise I might have used the pick-handle on him. He told me I was useless.
Perhaps, but I didn’t hit good-looking girls with a stick — and still don’t, and now I’m 83!
This story was submitted to the People's War site by Graham Brown of the ´óÏó´«Ã½ Radio Shropshire CSV Action Desk on behalf of Alexander Donaldson and has been added to the site with his permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.
© Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.