‘You don’t have to shoot a line with me, Charlie Bassett; everyone has a Glenn Miller story these days.’
Privately I agreed with her, and decided to leave it at that. Anyway, that was the night she gave in to my jokes, slipped the small bolt on the door, and into my bed. She had long milky white legs, and smelled of Lifebuoy. It had been a long time, and I wasn’t too handy, but she didn’t seem to mind. When I hugged her into my sore shoulder after the event I told her, ‘I don’t even know your first name.’
‘Give me one.’
‘Again? Let me get my breath back, love.’
‘Don’t be silly; give me a name. Make one up.’
‘Gloria.’
‘Like Gloria Swanson. I like that; I’ll keep it forever for whenever I’m going to be bad. Now; give me one.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Seriously.’
‘Even if it kills me?’
‘I’m a nurse. You’re in good hands.’
*
Bernard went a bit odd at the end of January. In ’45 we were a nation of people going a bit odd. It must have been something to do with the war. He’d been in a secret specialized Home Guard mob before and told nobody about it. Now he had to go back to parades, and carrying his rifle openly, although still wearing his 1914–18 uniform. They were bloody awful days. I read a hundred books, and didn’t remember a word of them.
David Clifford began visiting me about then. The first thing he said was, ‘There appears to be a soldier from the Great War sitting outside your door: rifle, bayonet, puttees, gas mask round his neck; the bloody lot. Bloody strange. He asked me for a pass before he’d let me in.’
‘Got one?’
‘As a matter of fact I have. Signed by your CO.’
‘I didn’t think he knew I was here.’
‘Not that one. Your German doctor, Doctor Hildegard somebody.’
‘Where the bloody hell have you been? I’ve been here for ages, and no sod from the squadrons has been anywhere near me.’ I tailed off sort of lamely, ‘. . . it’s a poor bloody show. That’s what I think.’
Cliff looked smart; well, as smart as he could. He had his sheepskin-lined flying jacket over his uniform. I felt disadvantaged: I was sitting in a cane chair they had brought me, but was still in pyjamas and a dressing gown. They had hidden my walking-out clothes in case I did.
‘You haven’t been listening, have you? Visiting, except next of kin, was verboten. Frau Doktor’s orders: kaput.’
‘That means finished: it looks as if it’s just started again, if you’re here.’
‘That’s the style, old boy. The bang on your head didn’t do permanent damage then?’
‘You know about that too, do you?’
‘Yes, the Colonel told me when he briefed me to come down for this little session.’
‘Colonel?’
‘My boss.’
‘I thought you were in the RAF.’
‘See? You picked it up: I knew you were feeling better as soon as I walked in the room. Can I sit down?’
He pulled the hard upright chair towards him: it didn’t look as if I had much say in the matter.
Bernard put his head round the door. He was wearing his helmet. He ignored Cliff but asked me, ‘Everything OK, sir?’
‘Fine Bernard, but don’t call me sir: we were both still sergeants when I arrived.’
‘You won’t overdo it, sir?’
‘No, Bernard.’ I sighed. ‘I’m fine. I’ll call you if he gets difficult. A couple of cups of char wouldn’t come amiss.’
‘I’ll get one of the young ladies to see to it, sir.’
Cliff asked, ‘What would he do, if I got difficult?’
‘Bayonet you, I think.’
‘You’re serious, aren’t you? Why would he do that?’
‘We haven’t established that. He adopted me when I arrived here: it’s something we haven’t discussed. Have we, Bernard?’ I directed the last three words at the open door. Beyond it Bernard barked, ‘No need, sir.’
Cliff said, ‘I suppose that closing the door is out of the question?’
Bernard’s next bark beat me to it.
‘It is.’
I told him, ‘OK, that’s enough, Bernard.’ Then I told Cliff, ‘But he’s right; the door stays open.’
Bernard brought the tea in. He gave Cliff the one with tea slopped into the saucer.
Cliff said, ‘He wasn’t here when you came in.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Because I was.’
‘How come?’
‘I travelled in the meat wagon with you. In case you had any famous last words; that sort of thing.’
‘Was that important?’
‘Yes: there was no one else, you see.’ He looked away, regret on his face, but not grief. For some reason that struck me as very professional.
‘Thank you.’
‘Think nothing of it. You were in a bit of a state. It took us about half an hour to find you. The old cow had veered hard to the west as she went in . . .’
‘That was because the starboard outer went mad, and pushed her that way. I was in a Lanc that did that once: my pilot fought her all the way back from Germany.’
‘That’s what I came today to find out.’
‘Don’t you know what happened?’
‘You’re not listening again, Charlie. I told you: no one else made it.’
A picture came into my mind.
‘I saw the female Joe. Her head was on fire.’
‘Don’t tell me any of that, Charlie. I don’t need to know.’
‘Squeamish?’
‘No. It’s just a matter of taste. Don’t forget that the silly sods made you an officer.’
There was one of those gaps in the conversation until I asked him, ‘You said I looked in a bit of a state?’
‘We found you sitting up against a grave stone in Tempsford graveyard. Initially I thought that that was quite appropriate. You’d been blown about twenty yards into it by the last explosion. Your face was puffed up, and black. You had strips of
