The Sixteen Page 8

  I climbed back into my bunk and eventually dozed off, but it felt as though I’d only been sleeping for about five minutes before that ‘stupid little sergeant’ was bashing the side of the tent and screaming his bloody head off at us to get up!

  On parade that Monday morning, the officer on parade told me to report to Lieutenant Stevens. As soon as we were dismissed, I went over to his tent, knocked on the pole and waited.

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Urwin, S-sir.’

  ‘Ah, yes. Come in.’

  I pushed through the tent flaps and went inside. Lieutenant Stevens was sitting at his desk looking at some papers. He was a young, boyish looking bloke of about twenty-seven or so, slightly built and around five foot eleven inches tall. I usually got on well with him but he seemed to be annoyed with me, for some reason that I couldn’t think of. His manner was curt and he eyed me suspiciously.

  ‘What have you been up to, Urwin? How did you manage to get yourself detailed over to 518 Officers’ Mess?’ he demanded.

  I was as surprised as he was.

  ‘The Officers’ M-mess, S-sir? I h-haven’t a clue, S-sir.’

  ‘Well, that’s where you’re going so you’d better report to 518 Company straight away, you’ll get further instructions over there,’ he said, dismissing me abruptly.

  I had no experience in this area at all, besides it was generally considered to be a bit of a ‘cushy number’, kept for those who deserved some type of merit, which certainly explained Lieutenant Stevens’s raised eyebrows at my selection. But I wasn’t complaining: I’d get better rations and wouldn’t have to parade or do any guard duties!

  My first thought on being told to report to Lieutenant Stevens, was that it might be something to do with the guy on the beach, but now I was just confused and didn’t know what the hell was going on.

  At 518 Company Officers’ Mess, I was greeted with a mixture of deep suspicion, disbelief and a great deal of resentment by both the kitchen staff and mess orderlies, who simply couldn’t understand how a stuttering Geordie could possibly have been given the position of Head Waiter! However, they had their orders and went through the motions, showing me how to lay tables and serve food. I was just as baffled as they were and, although it was certainly an improvement on digging latrines, I didn’t know why I had been sent there any more than they did.

  In fact I wanted to be a ‘real soldier’ and thought that if this had anything to do with the guy on the beach then I’d been well and truly conned! This was neither funny nor exciting! I just couldn’t believe that this could be what he’d meant; besides, why would ‘they’ – whoever ‘they’ were – go to all that bother, all of that secrecy, merely to stick me in the Officers’ Mess? It just didn’t make any sense.

  I wondered if perhaps it was because one of these officers was to be my next contact. But how would I know and why hadn’t the guy on the beach simply explained more to me? I just wished that he’d given me more information but, for now, I’d simply have to wait and see and hope that it wouldn’t be too long before everything became clear.

  The Officers’ Mess was a large wooden construction, consisting of four pre-fabricated units, which together formed a square. One large rectangle formed the dining hall, with windows on two adjacent sides and doorways on the other two. A long, highly polished table stood in the centre surrounded by chairs and along the longer, windowless wall, were draped flags and regimental regalia. On this same wall was a doorway through into a smaller, squarer room that was fitted out with a bar, although for some reason there was no actual door attached to this opening. The bar led through to another room, which held a full-size snooker table.

  And the second doorway, on the shorter window-less wall, led directly into the kitchen area via a set of swing doors. The kitchen formed one short wall of the dining hall and was the length of the bar area beyond.

  I was kitted out in the regulation white jacket, red waistcoat, white shirt and black tie, and black trousers with a red stripe down the outside of each leg. To my utter horror, I was told that I’d been given the task of reading the menu out to the officers, and then to wait in order to take their individual orders.

  The menu consisted of soup and a main course followed by a pudding and as I looked at it the nightmare grew, partly due to my stammer and self-consciousness, but also due in part to the fact that I didn’t even know what half the stuff on the menu was, or how the words should be pronounced!

  Soon the officers came through from the bar area in dribs and drabs, then sat around the table chatting to one another. Suddenly, one old boy with an enormous moustache, pushed the papers he’d been reading into his breast pocket, looked up at me and then glanced around the table.

  ‘Well?’ he bellowed. ‘Are you going to get on with it?’

  ‘Y-yes, S-sir. R-right a–away, S–sir,’ I stammered.

  ‘What! What’s this?’ he roared in his loud, plummy voice. He glanced around at the others, then stood up and turned his chair to fully face where I was standing at the head of the table before sitting down again. Then he glared at me and leaned forwards with his knees wide apart and one hand resting on each of them.

  It was totally intimidating, and my first attempt to read out the menu was a complete disaster. I simply couldn’t get past the word ‘soup’! I was supposed to be saying, ‘For soup there is a choice of…’ but all I managed was ‘F-f-f-for s-s-s-s-s-s-s…’ before I stopped dead, flushed and very embarrassed.

  I tried again, but with no more success than my first attempt, which several of the officers found very amusing. However, the old boy was very definitely not amused at all.

  ‘What the hell is going on, here?’ he loudly demanded to know, his face turning slightly red.

  To my surprise, another officer leaned over the table and beckoned to him. The old guy bent forward and listened intently as the younger officer whispered something to him.

  ‘What? What’s that you say? Well, why wasn’t I told this before?’ he said as he listened. Then he turned back in his seat to face me, leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs and tweaked the end of his large bushy moustache. He continued to look at me very, very hard for a few long moments, weighing me up.

  ‘Look, if you can’t say it, why don’t you try to sing the bloody thing?’ he said loudly.

  I thought it had to be the stupidest thing I’d ever heard but he was deadly serious, so with a little hesitation and feeling a complete idiot, I did it – I sort of read the menu in a sing-song way, which to my amazement worked with almost everything but asparagus. I don’t know why but for some reason I just couldn’t get my tongue around that one flaming word!

  From then on, I gradually lost my stammer day by day.

  Most of the officers were pleasant and reasonably friendly towards me, especially the old guy. He seemed very pleased to see that his remedy for stuttering was working and he always made a point of speaking to me. Unfortunately, my popularity with the officers did little to improve my relationship with the other orderlies; if anything it seemed to make them even more resentful.

  They were suspicious of me from the start, mainly because I was an unknown who’d landed a plum job and they weren’t exactly sure why I’d been given it but, generally, they left me alone. The main exception to this was the Sergeant Cook, a big, fat, ugly bloke, who was constantly having a go at me, demanding to know how I’d got to be so pally with the old boy.

  This Sergeant Cook didn’t believe me when I told him that I hadn’t a clue why the old guy seemed to like me and was more pleasant to me than the other orderlies, or why I’d been given this job in the first place. He went on and on at me, constantly bringing the subject up whenever he saw me.

  He’d been having a go at me one afternoon and after he’d gone one of the other orderlies, who’d seen him talking to me came over.

  ‘Here, a word of warning, pal! You don’t want to be getting too matey with that one,’ he warned quietly. ‘Watch your back at all time
s, and if he drops a spoon, don’t you bleedin’ bend over to pick it up!’

  ‘Why? What d-do you mean?’ I asked.

  ‘Why? ’Cos he’s a bloody big puff, mate, bent as they come and nasty with it that’s why, so watch out! He’s only in here ’cos he’s a good cook and he’d be given a right hard time of it in the normal camp, serve the bugger right an’ all it would!’ he explained. ‘Bloody soddin’ queers, I hate them!’ he said vehemently, almost spitting the words out. ‘If I had my way the whole f***in’ lot of them would be stuck up against a wall and bleedin’ shot!’

  I hadn’t a clue what he was talking about but realised it was obviously something he felt very strongly about and really felt I needed to know. I was simply that innocent, that naïve.

  ‘Thanks for the warning, I’ll certainly k-keep an eye on him,’ I told him anyway, wondering what on earth I had to watch out for and just what exactly was a ‘pouf’. I suspected that it was something that I should be aware of, but I didn’t really want to ask any of my mates for details as they liked nothing better than to ‘take the Mickey’ and were already giving me a rough time about losing my stammer and ‘getting all posh’ and ‘full of myself’ from being around the officers so much.

  In all, I spent about two weeks working in the Officers’ Mess during which time my stammer improved noticeably every day. It seemed little short of a miracle to me, that such a terrible affliction, which had been with me most of my life, was all but cured in so relatively short a period and in such a simple way.

  CHAPTER 5

  INITIATION

  I’d been working in the Officers’ Mess for roughly two weeks and had picked up most of the basics relatively quickly. While I didn’t exactly enjoy it, it was better than what I’d been doing so far and had obvious advantages to it, the main ones being no morning parade or guard duty. But, as I was preparing the table for Sunday lunch, the fat Sergeant Cook called out to me.

  ‘Forget about that, Geordie, you’re leaving right now. Report on parade tomorrow morning,’ he ordered.

  ‘On parade! Eh, why?’ I asked warily, still cautious about him after the warning I’d been given.

  ‘How the hell do I know, probably for your next cushy job?’ he sneered. ‘I’ve just received orders, so forget about that and beat it!’

  Typical, I thought, just when I’m beginning to get the hang of things and getting to lose that awful bloody stammer. I was a bit miffed at losing the perks and the decent food I’d been getting too.

  ‘But, Sarge, what about my dinner?’ I asked, as I hadn’t eaten yet.

  ‘Tough! Just beat it will you, Geordie,’ he growled nastily.

  ‘That’s great, isn’t it,’ I mumbled under my breath as I turned to leave.

  ‘What was that?’ he demanded, giving me a look that made me move pretty damn quickly.

  ‘Nowt! I’ll never understand this army,’ I muttered over my shoulder.

  I couldn’t understand why I was suddenly no longer needed in the mess, but then I hadn’t understood why I’d been sent there in the first place. Although I hadn’t been there long I’d learned the job quickly, the fat Sergeant Cook had even admitted that much. So, I didn’t think it could be because I wasn’t very good at the job and besides, they’d known I had no experience when they gave it to me.

  Typical army logic, I thought as I made my way back to the tent. But, at least it’s helped me to get rid of that damn stammer.

  It was very hot and I spent the rest of the day lounging around with Bill and Dave, just messing about taking daft photos to send back home. But that night when we turned in I wondered what was going to happen the following morning and what crummy job I’d be given next.

  ‘Back t’digging ’oles tomorrow, eh, Geordie?’ Bill teased.

  ‘Looks like it, mate,’ I groaned. ‘Nothing lasts forever, especially if it’s good.’

  Monday morning I lined up on parade and stood waiting for my orders.

  ‘Urwin!’ shouted the officer on parade. ‘You’re on detachment.’

  ‘Sarge, surely there’s been a mistake made here?’ I said, looking at the papers he’d handed me.

  ‘Yes, too bloody right, Urwin. I had a nice little job lined up for you here on latrine duty! You’ve had it too cushy in the Officers’ Mess, lad. I’d like to know who’s responsible for these bloody orders!’ he barked.

  ‘But they’re sending me out with a truck!’

  I was surprised to say the least. I’d hardly been out of the camp since we’d arrived and hadn’t a clue about getting around the island, so how was I supposed to know where to go?

  ‘Just do as you’re bloody told, Urwin, and report next door,’ the sergeant snapped and marched off.

  I did as he said and went to the nearby 518 Company Depot and handed over the papers to the officer in charge, a sergeant, who allocated me a truck.

  ‘Right, lad. Report to the Ordnance Depot at Dhekélia,’ he ordered, giving me the papers I’d need to hand in at the gate when I got there.

  I jumped into the passenger side of the assigned truck and sat there for a few minutes waiting for a co-driver. Suddenly someone banged loudly on the side of the truck.

  ‘You still here? What the hell are you waiting for?’ the sergeant bellowed.

  ‘Eh! But where’s the other bloke, Sarge?’

  ‘What other bloke? What are you talking about?’

  ‘Well, the driver!’ I explained.

  He looked at me blankly. ‘What driver? You’re the driver, you pillock!’

  ‘Me! You’re kidding, though Sarge! The furthest I’ve been out of camp is to the beach and back!’

  ‘Tough!’ he snapped. ‘There’s a map in there above your head, use it. You can’t go wrong, there’s only one bleedin’ road straight to the place, it’ll take you five minutes. You’re the driver, NOW GET MOVIN’.’

  I did as he ordered and set off, unable to believe that they were actually letting me take a truck out on my own.

  After driving along for about ten minutes in the direction of Limassol, I got my eye on this guy standing at the side of the road near to a parked jeep. As far as I could see, he appeared to be alone.

  As I drove closer, he stepped further into the road, put his hand up and waved at me to stop. I looked around but still couldn’t see anyone else, just this guy on his own. I wondered if he might have broken down, but we’d been warned about the dangers of terrorist traps, so I put my foot down and sped towards him – there was no way I was going to get caught out on my first trip.

  He was wearing a short-sleeved army shirt and shorts and looked like an ordinary soldier except that there was something vaguely familiar about him.

  And he obviously expected me to stop, as he stood right in the middle of the road until I was almost on top of him and had to jump to one side to avoid being hit. As I shot past him, I got a good look at his face and recognised him instantly – it was the guy from the beach!

  Immediately I slammed on the brakes and screeched to a halt in a cloud of dust. I looked in the wing mirror but for several seconds he was obscured from my view by the choking dirt and sand. When it eventually settled I saw him beckoning to me, and so reversed back to where he was waiting at the side of the road, dusting himself down with a hanky.

  ‘Hello there, Geordie, it’s me,’ he said calmly with no reference to the fact that I’d almost run him over and covered him with a fine film of brown dust. ‘Remember,’ he went on. ‘We met on the beach a little while ago.’

  ‘Yes, of course I do. Sorry about that,’ I apologised, pointing to the dust that covered his clothes. ‘I thought you might be a flaming terrorist or something, I only realised who you were as I passed you,’ I explained. ‘Besides, when nothing happened the other week I thought you must have forgotten about me.’

  He grinned broadly and shook his head. ‘Come on, get out of the truck, Geordie, just leave it,’ he said calmly.

  ‘What! Leave it!’ I was concerned; the truck was m
y responsibility and there would be hell to pay if anything happened to it. ‘I can’t just leave it. I’m supposed to take it to Dhekélia.’

  ‘No, you’re not.’

  ‘But I’ve got written orders!’

  ‘Well of course you have,’ he agreed, smiling. ‘Don’t worry, it’s all been taken care of, it’ll be here when you get back.’

  ‘What do you mean “when I get back”? Back from where?’

  ‘You said you wanted a change, some excitement, well, believe me you’re going to get it. This is it, Geordie, lad!’ he told me with a grin, his manner so casual and friendly yet at the same time so positive. He jumped into the jeep and slapped his hand on the passenger seat.

  ‘Come on, Geordie, get in. Stop worrying, I’ve told you your truck will definitely be there when you get back! I promise you.’

  I couldn’t explain it, but there was a real honesty about him; just something so compelling about the guy that made me believe what he said; the truck would be taken care of. For all he sounded like an officer he certainly didn’t act like any other officer I’d come across in the armed forces, for he made me feel great and totally at ease. I jumped into the jeep and left the truck at the side of the road. As we drove off, I looked back at it, unable to believe what I’d just done!

  We sped through the rocky hills and barren landscape into the middle of nowhere, or so it seemed to me, and travelled for roughly twenty minutes along a dusty, narrow road. As we rounded the base of a steep, rock-strewn hill suddenly, to my surprise, we came in sight of what appeared to be a rusting old aircraft hangar standing well back from the track.

  There was a fairly large flat area in front of it and I supposed it might once have been an airfield, but it seemed an odd place to have one out here in the middle of all these hills. I wondered if it might have been used for helicopters or something like that. There were a few broken-down outhouses and sheds close by, all pretty dilapidated and run down, nothing appeared to have been used for a long time. The badly neglected concrete areas of ground were cracked and broken, with parched brown tufts of grass pushing their way through, and nearby a couple of large lizards basking lazily in the sunshine, while others scuttled around in the dry grass before apparently disappearing into thin air.