don't like the man, but I won't let that get in the way of anything.'
Peploe nodded. 'Good.' He smiled at Tanner again. 'You know, Sergeant, I think you and I are going to get along just fine.'
Inside the hut it was warm and still, the sun pouring through the windows and capturing a million tiny dust particles disturbed by the arrival of the men. Aware that to step outside was to court unwanted attention, the five had taken off their battle-blouses, rolled up their shirtsleeves and settled down to a game of poker around one of the unused beds.
More than an hour after they had begun, two - Bell and Kershaw - had fallen by the wayside, although they were still there as spectators.
Sykes glanced at his watch. Tanner was taking his time, he thought. He put his cards face down on his knee and rolled himself a cigarette, while keeping half an eye on the other two players. Hepworth was fingering his cards, knowing he was beaten but evidently hoping that by shuffling them repeatedly, the winning combination would miraculously reveal itself. McAllister, on the other hand, clearly believed he had the hand of his life.
Sykes smiled to himself. 'You know, Mac,' he said, 'you could be quite a good player, but you're so bleedin' easy to read. The point of poker is not to give anything away.'
McAllister jigged his knee up and down. 'I don't care. No one can beat my hand.' He chortled. 'Come on, Hep. Get a move on. You're dead and buried, mate, so why prolong the agony?'
'It's your bloody crowing,' said Hepworth. 'It's driving me mad.'
There was now seven shillings and fourpence on the empty bed that was doubling as a card table - a tidy sum and more than any of them, even Corporal Sykes, was paid for a day's soldiering. Sykes wondered what hand McAllister had - a straight flush, perhaps? Had to be something like that. He licked the cigarette paper, ran a finger down the seam, then put it to his mouth.
Eventually Hepworth sighed and laid his cards face up on the bed. Three of a kind. 'Go on, then, Mac, let's see what you've got.'
McAllister grinned, then slapped down his cards. Seven, eight, nine, ten and jack of clubs. As Sykes had suspected, a straight flush.
'Very good, Mac, very good,' said Sykes. He held his cigarette between his thumb and index finger and stroked his chin.
'Swallow your pride, Stan,' said McAllister. 'Just accept that this time a miracle's happened and you've lost.' He looked round at the others. 'He knows he's beat. Ha - look at all that lovely lolly! That'll keep me in fags and booze for weeks.'
Sykes remained impassive. He was not a tall man, with a wiry frame, a narrow face and always immaculately brilliantined hair. But he had long, slender fingers and a sleight of hand that could fool most people, and certainly the young Yorkshire lads in his section.
'All right, Mac,' Sykes began, and McAllister leaned forward to scoop up the coins in front of him. 'Here's my hand.' He fanned his cards on the bed, a smirk stretching across his face as he did so.
Hepworth laughed. 'It's a royal flush! Ha! Unlucky, Mac!'
'What?' exclaimed Mac. 'How the hell did you manage that?'
Sykes grinned. 'Like I said, Mac, you're too bleedin' obvious.' He picked up a coin and flicked it to McAllister. 'Here,' he said, 'have half a crown. Runner- up's prize.'
A moment later, Tanner returned with Lieutenant Peploe.
'Don't get up,' said Peploe, from the doorway. 'As you are.' He eyed them all and, seeing McAllister putting away the cards, smiled. 'Who won?'
'Corporal Sykes, sir,' said Hepworth. 'McAllister here thought he'd nailed us all, but it weren't to be.'
Sykes shrugged.
'You want to watch the corporal, sir,' said Tanner, standing beside the lieutenant. 'He can do very clever things with those hands of his.'
'What are you suggesting, Sarge?' said Sykes, feigning indignation.
Peploe cleared his throat. 'An introduction,' he said. 'I'm Second Lieutenant John Peploe and I'm your new platoon commander. I know you had quite a time of it in Norway and I'm sorry you've not had more leave. However, your experience is much needed here - we're primarily still a training company - and I'm extremely glad to have you in my platoon. There's every chance we'll soon be joining the First Battalion in France, but in the meantime we need to help the recruits so that if and when we do get to join the BEF we might be of some use.' He glanced around the men. 'You'll meet the rest of the platoon on the parade-ground at four o'clock - or, rather, I should say, sixteen hundred hours - and then we'll be heading off to Kingsgate for some coastal guard duty. Right - now I need to know who you are.' He stepped from the doorway into the hut and approached each man in turn, shaking hands and reiterating how glad he was to have them serving under him. Then he spoke briefly with Tanner, straightened his cap, and left them to it once more.
Sykes came over to Tanner, who had made a beeline for his pack. 'He seems all right. So did the CSM for that matter.'
'Mr Peploe's fine,' agreed Tanner. 'It's early days but I'd say he was a good bloke.'
Sykes thought a moment, conscious that the sergeant had made no mention of CSM Blackstone. He hadn't known Tanner long - a few weeks only - but he believed a friendship had been forged in Norway, founded on mutual trust and respect, and developed during a difficult trek through the snow and the mountains. The enemy had dogged their every move yet they had made it to safety, rejoining the rest of the British forces as the final evacuation was taking place. In many ways they were very different, both physically and in character, but although neither had ever spoken of it, Sykes had recognized early that they shared one thing in common. Both were outsiders among these Yorkshiremen, and there was a tacit understanding of this between them: while most of the Yorkshire Rangers were drawn from the northern cities of Leeds and Bradford, Tanner was a countryman from the
