AUGUST 1942

I’m enjoying the long summer days. I like to watch the sunset through the pub window. I have my own corner. Well, it’s not my corner, it’s just a corner that nobody else seems to sit in. Maybe nobody else sits in it because they know that I sit in it. They probably think they might catch something off a commoner like me. They should be so lucky. Cheeky monkeys. I don’t trouble anybody. I just sit in my corner and drink my half of bitter and watch the sun set. I didn’t used to do this when he was around. The pub was his place. Mine was above the shop, waiting for him to come back. The braggart. I don’t think they ever expected to see me lower myself and come into the pub. I expect they think I’m lonely or something. Well, they can think what they like. I’m not looking for anybody. I’m just having a drink. His best mate is at the bar. He’s a crafty bugger. Always quick to come over, touch his cap, and ask me if I’m all right. Hardly gives me time to get the words out of my mouth (I’m all right, Stan, thanks) and he’s back at the bar, foot up, head occasionally swivelling around to look at me (smile, nod, wink) before he turns back around and starts talking about me with the rest. I could bloody crown him. The hypocrite. It’s Home Guard this evening. In their bloody silly uniforms. One gun between them. Whose turn is it tonight to carry the gun? God help us if this is the best they can muster up to defeat the Hun. A butcher, a baker, a bleeding candlestick-maker. Half a dozen farmers and labourers, a couple of toffs, and a bobby who thinks he’s better than the rest because he’s got a proper uniform. He calls the meeting to order. They look at me as though I’m in the way. I stare back at them. We’ve got to prevent anything from landing in the fields hereabouts. The same conversation as last week. Planes, gliders, airships, ‘owt. Airships? I said Airships, all right. Hazards. We’ve got to put hazards out. Timber, bedsteads, old cars, ranges, anything you can lay your hands on. But that doesn’t include the cricket pitch, does it? We don’t have to put ‘owt on the cricket pitch, do we? It includes the bloody cricket pitch an’ all. But that’s not right. Bugger what’s right, it’s what’s got to be done. I get up, walk to the bar, and order another glass of beer. Some of them stop listening to the bobby and watch me. The bobby pretends nothing is happening. He continues to talk. It doesn’t make any difference that we’ve got Yanks here now. We’ve still got our job of work to do, is that clear? They nod. Dogs. He pulls out a piece of paper from his breast pocket. Latest orders for this branch of the Local Defence Volunteers. A chorus of dissent. Home Guard. We’ve been Home Guard for two bloody years now. Tank traps. We’ve got to prepare barricades on all roads leading into the village. Broken-down carts, tyres, junk of all kind is to be stationed by the side of the road, ready to be shifted into place. We’ll have ditches to dig and we’re to stuff them with barbed wire. I’m to carry a gun in case of parachutists. Also, those of you who own motor vehicles, you’re to immobilize them when parked. Remove the rotor arm or pull out the ignition leads. There’s no chances to be taken, understand? He pauses for a moment, and then scratches his head as though puzzled. I hand the barman elevenpence. Doesn’t seem any point to me, says the bobby. Pleasure motoring’s forbidden anyhow. Nobody’s going anywhere. This is all stuff that they’ve been doing in the south and other parts for a while now. Seems like they forgot about us. He blinks, takes a swig of beer, and then continues in a more formal voice. But now we’ve been told, we’ll act upon it. Any questions? I laugh as I walk back to my seat, but I manage to get a hand to my mouth. I catch it. Any questions? Sensible questions from this bunch I couldn’t imagine. One by one they troop out of the pub. Defeated by their own lack of imagination. I watch the sun go down. And think about Len. Sitting all alone in his cell. I wonder if he’s thinking about me. Then I realize that I don’t really care. Soon there is only myself, the barman, and two of the men in the pub. I close my eyes. Later, I realize that I must have fallen asleep, but they’d chosen to ignore me. I hear one of them whisper, She can’t take her drink. If I had twenty-three shillings I’d buy a bottle of whisky. Just to show them. But I don’t have it. And then I hear their joke. About the new utility knickers. One Yank and they’re off. Their language goes right through me. I pull myself to my feet. Goodnight. Goodnight, I call back.