LITMIR.BIZ

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that.’

      Bill was horrified. ‘Yes. But Sergeant, I never meant to injure him, let alone kill him.’

      A few decent grovels and the slightest hint of distress worked wonders.

      ‘There’s nothing I can do to you, Cadet the Germans won’t do better.

      Behave yourself. I don’t want to hear another single peep about you. You got that?’

      ‘Yes, Sergeant.’

      ‘Otherwise I’ll have your arse nailed to the floorboards. Now, fuck off! You’re dismissed.’

      ‘Yes. Sergeant. Thank you, Sergeant.’

      The case against Bill never eventuated.

      Merriment continued without respite but there were threats made by corporals.

      ‘If you don’t end up peeling potatoes in the Navy, you’ll be taught how to kill by numbers. Got it?’

      Bill was reminded of Alf and his cronies. But corporals had a licence to bully.

      ‘You’re a horrible little man. You couldn’t kill a German if your life depended on it,’ said the corporal.

      After Bill allowed himself to be summarily broken, he learned to be happy the RAF way.

      He had clean sheets, new blue uniforms and a pay slip of less than £1 a week.

      Food was plentiful three times a day and always the flesh of some sort of animal even if covered with gritty gravy like Thames mud. Bill reasoned this was not a bad way to live except for his butt nakedness in public toilets.

      ‘They could also lighten up on their obstacle course, Olly. Fred says he never saw a single twenty foot wall with rope hung over the side of it. Not in his war.’

      But Bill’s stint near home base neared a close. Excitement was in the air. Changes were about to happen. News of his posting seemed too good to be true. He was assigned to another Training Wing but news of where, was slow to come through.

      ‘Aye, Bill, I’m to be admitted to same Wing, by gum.’

      ‘The air is thick with rumours, Olly.’

      True. First they were off to Aberystwyth in Wales. Then it was to Newquay in Cornwall. Bill understood general strategies of the powers were unlikely to take his preferences into consideration but in the final analysis he hoped he might not be too far from home. Already he missed it.

      CHAPTER 7

       BILL’S JOURNEY MAY 1943

      When the news broke, it was not the slag heaps of Wales, nor the pirates of Penzance, Cornwall. They were off to Canada.

      ‘Bloody hell! Where’s Canada?’ asked Olly.

      ‘I’m not sure, Olly.’

      Neither Bill nor Olly wanted prolonged farewells, which was fortunate as no one came to see them off.

      Ensconced into the deep bowels of a munitions ship bound for Canada, they left Southampton 29 May 1943. Lily was proud of her son. He was going abroad. Even her well-to-do brother, Charlie had never been overseas. No one in the family had been beyond Southend-On-Sea for holidays.

      Olly braced himself for the sea air. ‘Aye, it’ll be a welcome change to go for a cruise.’

      As the deck rails crammed with teary-eyed teenagers Bill and Olly explored below.

      A blast from their ship’s horn signalled departure. Soon after they left the quay, the wind stiffened. In their wake seagulls circled and cried out. Bill thought they sounded like lost souls.

      Not long and it was Bill’s cue to take his own special place at the deck rail. There he looked windswept and according to Olly, smelled interesting.

      ‘Aye, I’ll keep you company, Bill. But I’ll stay naught but upwind.’

      Their sea passage was rough. As Bill leaned ever further to seaward he reminded himself between heaves. ‘I joined—the Air Force—to avoid—all things—fuckin’ nautical.’

      Their ship suffered not only from a seesaw motion but a yaw. When they went below to eat or sleep, Olly was unaffected and ate as if he was a junkyard dog.

      ‘Does nothing put you off food?’ asked Bill. He looked green.

      But Olly’s eyes were already drawn to the cheese plate.

      ‘Don’t you ever stop, Olly? That cheese is pitted and wobbles, bit like our faces after a big night out.’

      ‘Everyone’s in constant fear of being torpedoed, Bill. We might as well eat.’

      Wrapped in his lifejacket, Bill braced against the ship’s motion while he pined for his white cliffs.

      ‘Aye, some are so bloody scared they never take off their life-jackets, Bill.’

      But Bill was impervious to Olly’s taunts.

      Olly refused on principle to wear his lifejacket. ‘There’s naught point. If summat happens and ship goes down out here, we might as well go down with her.’

      Others smoked, read and wrote letters home while between times they turned green too but Olly was an exception. He was never seasick as he had a strong stomach.

      While at the ship’s rail Bill realised no one wanted to chat. Others moved away rather than be drawn into Olly’s conversation.

      ‘Aye, if fear of being torpedoed isn’t bad enough there’s worry of being trapped behind them huge waterproof doors.’

      ‘They’re designed to close fast if water rushes in, Olly. Trouble is,’ continued Bill, between heaves. ‘No-one knows for sure, which side—of the doors—will be safe?’

      ‘Aye, everywhere below smells fetid and closed up.’

      ‘That’s because—it is—Olly!’ Bill composed himself. ‘Hell, none of this was on their brochure.’

      The sky became blue as they approached the mighty continent. After days that felt like weeks they disembarked. Bill’s seasickness lifted the moment his feet touched shore.

      ‘Never was I so pleased to get off that fuckin’ ship, Olly. It was a joyless trip all round.’

      ‘Aye, but did you not offer up prayers while on board, Bill?’ smirked Olly.

      ‘I’ll offer up prayers to anyone until I’m on dry land, Olly.’

      After an extended train journey they arrived at Saskatoon in Saskatchewan. Slap bang in the middle of wheat country.

      The winter cold took on a new meaning whereas in summer the mercury soared to levels unheard of at home. Bill and Olly settled with no trouble into their new domestic groove.

      On a Military Base run in cooperation by Allied forces they adjusted to this land of climatic extremes.

      ‘Aye, it’s the kind of cold freezes your snot and makes your bits and pieces shrivel up and disappear,’ said Olly.

      In summer everything shone so much sunspots pulsed red and black across their field of vision. Mind-melting heat screwed with their brains. That and anything in between was the norm in Saskatoon. To the boy from Notting Hill, the sheer size of everything about Canada took his breath away and Saskatonians were friendly.

      Near Base was a small town.

      ‘Aye, or at least a place with shops and a hospital,’ laughed Olly.

      They saw a big sign, Drink Canada Dry.

      ‘Aye, Bill, let’s give it our best shot.’

      Bill liked Canadians but some thought English people were uptight.

      ‘Aye, they’re not wrong,’ agreed Olly.

      Canada

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