Wanderers, Digger v Doughboy, VAD Vignette, photos

Wanderers, Digger v Doughboy, VAD Vignette, photos

DOWN the hill, across the road, and over the fence men in twos and threes were slowly moving towards the mess. It was breakfast-time. There is no parade at our mess. The men who dine there are not marching men. Their proud days and their buoyant youth are of another war. They are not fighting men now, but the odd-job men of the camp, the men who serve in the canteens, or collect the salvage, or dig the gardens, or work in the cookhouses. As they stroll quietly along, they seem like wanderers who, after travelling many roads, have returned home to the army and their youth.

Teddy, the cook, was standing with his back to the stove and his hands clasped behind him. He was a man of 6o, slight of build, with sallow complexion and thin, grayish, unkempt hair. There was nothing unusual in his standing there, leaning forward a little, and yet you were conscious of some change. The first men were now passing the wood-heap and the copper. As they came into the kitchen, Teddy said to them quietly: "I'm being boarded out of the army to-day. They reckon I'm too old. I've got to report up at the hospital to-night." One of them said a little awkwardly: "Sorry to hear it, mate. How are you feeling about it?" As Teddy turned round from the stove to hand them their porridge, he replied sadly: "I don't want to go much. It suits me all right here. I don't know, but they never seem to give a man a chance to settle down." The men moved silently into the mess-room.

During the morning Teddy cheered up again, and yarned in his old way about his life at sea, about Italy, Cairo, Panama, and hard times spent in London's East End

Later in the morning, while he was standing back to the stove, with a burnt-out cigarette in his mouth, Teddy said softly, almost to himself: "I'm sorry 1 ever broke it up with the missus; but it's no good when you're all the time going away to sea. We never seemed to get along together; but things weren't the same any more. When man breaks up his home, he's got nowhere to go, and hangs round pubs, and never seems to settle down. Somehow when you've been to sea, you never get out of sailor town."

It was soon lunch-time. Teddy was busy, and seemed to have forgotten about his going. There were the familiar sounds: "Two more coming: another over the last fence." Men were moving in and out of the kitchen and the mess-room.

Someone said: "Here's 'heavy Harry' rolling up the straight-all dressed up too." "Bon jour, parlez-vous?" said Harry as he came into the kitchen. Teddy chipped in: "You've come to the wrong place, Harry. This is no 'Menzies', you know." Harry laughed his deep laugh and replied: "They're sending me on leave again. I don't know what for. It's a holiday for me up here. The canteen's just a rest-home." As he entered the mess-room, a chorus greeted him: "How's the tank corps to-day?" "Pretty good. thanks," Harry replied, "bon jour, parlez-vous?"

When things were quiet again, Fred, the camp moaner, arrived. He was complaining bitterly about "distension in the pioneer squad". When he had moved away, Teddy remarked softly: "We were once at sea together, you know. He was a bonzer bloke then. On one trip we ran aground off New Zealand. We all got ashore all right; but somehow Fred wasn't the same afterwards. He never went back to sea again. I don't think he's had a steady job since then, and it takes a lot out of a man."

The last to arrive was "Artie", the racing enthusiast. He was tall and thin, with sharp features, and a restless manner. There was a voice from the mess-room: "I hear you did no good on Saturday, Artie." In his staccato speech he replied: "Listen here. Dig, I can make more money in 10 minutes than you can make in 10 years. All I need is a fiver on a winner, all up another winner, all up another," and he added with a smile, "and a bit of luck."

The afternoon passed like any other afternoon. There were the same dishes to wash, the same tables to set. Teddy was happily engaged in making what he called "a bit of a stew". After a while we paused, and waited to see who might drop in for afternoon-tea.

A few minutes later the salvage truck pulled up outside the kitchen. Half a dozen men jumped down and came inside. Among them was a Greek, named Chris. He was a man in his forties, dark complexioned, but with bright eyes and a face which lit up when he spoke. He was quiet while we yarned about our usual subjects, such as pay and food and leave. But when Teddy started to talk about his roamings, he was keenly interested, and often interrupted him, saying: "Ah yes, I have been there too." He told us how, as a boy, he had lived under Turkish rule, how later he had worked in Athens, and how at last he had left his own land to start life afresh in a new country.

At last the corporal said: "We'll have to get a move on, boys." They all went out except Chris. He seemed lost in his thoughts. Then, as he reached the door, he turned back and said to Teddy, pausing at times to choose his words: "I have been thinking that you and I, we are the same. We go to many places all over the world. We see much suffering, much that is bad. We have our good times too. Always we are on the move. We are (how shall I say?) wanderers." They looked at each other for a moment, and seemed to understand. Chris went out quickly. He waved to us as the truck moved away.

Only at the evening meal did the men seem to know that Teddy was leaving them. They were all very quiet, polite, a little uneasy. Fred had no more complaints about the pioneer squad: Artie showed no desire to talk about racing: there was no "heavy Harry" to liven things up. Teddy looked strained as he said good-bye to his mates. Not many words were spoken; but the men seemed to feel that they too might soon find themselves wanderers again.

Artie gave Teddy money and cigarettes. He was going to refuse; but Artie said in his excited manner: "This is from us all, Dig, Harry too. The boys won't miss it. I'm putting them on a couple of good things for the Valley on Saturday. I tell you, they can't lose!" When they had gone out, Teddy said with feeling: "I've had some good mates here. They never let you down."

We watched them as they moved away over the fence, across the road, and up the hill, until one by one they were lost in the evening light. The mess-room was empty now. Teddy was the last to leave.

With his kit-bag slung over his shoulder he moved slowly towards the hospital. As he went on his way, he seemed like a youth who has just left home to face the world alone, and feels mingled with his pride a doubt as to what the future holds for him.

"V56595"

DIGGER v. DOUGHBOY
"SOMEWHERE in Australia" four Australian and four American soldiers were being subjected to a general knowledge test, the idea being that the Australians should be asked questions about America, and the Americans questions about Australia. All went well until our Allies were asked, "What is a jackass?" Here were their replies: No. 1.-Wall, I guess it's like a horse; like a pack-horse. No. 2.-It's a bit above me. No- 3--It's more like a mule, or an ass! No- 4-I'll guess it's something like a "kookaboora", I think you say. No. 4. gained full marks for his side, but it must be admitted that No. 2 wasn't altogether up the wrong tree. The questioner had hardly finished laughing, when his face underwent an embarrassing change in colour and expression. The next quiz was, "What is an aboriginal?"
No. 1.-I don't think I can answer that. The questioner.-Am I an aboriginal? No. 1.--Yeah, I sure think you would be! But No. 4, a dark horse from Massachusetts, was again to the fore, answering that they were "black natives who live in the north". Not to be outdone, one Digger had an unrehearsed reply to the question, "Where are there more Italians, in Rome or New York?" "I'm hanged if I know, but I should say there would be more in the prison camps of Libya," he answered. "SX7106"

"ORANGE drink, please, nurse-a nice long orange drink." "I'll have coffee, please, and biscuits."

"Tea, please, nurse, strong I like it, you know the kind."

The young V.A.D. nursing orderly continued her rounds of the big ward with its thirty odd patients.

"And what would you like, Billy?"

A lad with rumpled hair and freckles pulled the radio ear-phones from his head. "Me? What I'd like and what I can have are about as different as a kangaroo and that little sparrow." He pointed through the window at a small bird balanced on the telephone wire. "What I'm going to have is milk. What I'd like is beer, a beautiful bottle all to myself, and I'd drink it slowly and taste every mouthful."

The girl laughed. Her name was Marjorie and she had perfect teeth and a pleasant smile. "Never mind, Bill, you'll get your beer one day."

The patient in the next bed was ready with his order. "I want a chocolate sundae with nuts and a hump of cream on the top and one of those flat spoons to eat it with. Then I'll have a chaser-a pineapple soda and a couple of straws-I like the gurgling noises you can make with a straw when you get down to the bottom of the glass."

Marjorie took the order. She made no comment, though there was a smile about the corners of her eyes. The patient, with a lot of luck, might walk again some day. She would do her best. There was some ice-cream in the frig. that she'd made that morning. The joke about the soda fountain was just part of the game, for imagination and a sense of humour are half the battle in a long convalescence.

Quietly the girl bent over the man in the next bed. He sensed her presence, opened his eyes and smiled. "All right?" "All right, thanks, nurse." There was nothing she could do at the moment, but the small attention eased a tired line from his damp forehead.

Next was Ronnie, who had seen service in Libya, Greece and Crete. He'd got through with only scratches until by the irony of fate he arrived home and on his first leave, slipped when running for a tram and broke his leg in two places.

Ronnie had been a rebellious patient until he discovered an interest in craft-work. He had clever fingers for making quaint animals in wool and felt. A small pink pig with a bunch of flowers in its mouth was a present for Marjorie.

The occupant of the next bed hoisted himself into a sitting position. His ears stuck out and he had bushy eyebrows. He addressed Marjorie in a tense stage whisper,

"Nurse, dear little nurse, there's something you can do for me."

"Yes, corporal, what is it?"

"I want you to give me some leave, a month's leave."

"Only a month, that's easy."

"Oh well, better make it six weeks."

"Sure." She tore a page from her note-book. "Leave pass for six weeks. Cpl. Jones. Business urgent. Wishes to make acquaintance of brand new baby daughter."

"That's big of you, nurse." The corporal tucked the note into the pocket of his pyjamas coat as carefully as if it had been a genuine leave-pass-cum-rail-ticket to W.A., where lived his wife and the baby he had never seen. Marjorie, persuaded to linger a moment to see the newest batch of snaps of the world's most wonderful child hoped for an inheritance of mother's rather than father's ears and eyebrows.

On the veranda four sunburned lads playing checkers in shorts asked for tea. One offered to help "the little V.A.D. when the big game finished".

Back in the glittering pantry of white enamel and stainless steel Marjorie made tea and coffee, squeezed oranges, cut bread and butter and set up plate and d'oyley for the birthday cake brought to the hospital by Mrs. Miles. It was not a visiting day but the mother of Private Miles (just one of the lads who had come through hard service in New Guinea) had made a long journey to leave her boy's favourite cake at the hospital office. It had a lemon cheese filling and it would be a surprise for his tea.

"Splinter", a pro. golfer in the halcyon days gone by, helped with the tea trolley while Marjorie arranged flowers. Sheafs of them suddenly arrived in the pantry as if out of thin air. She ran out of vases and made do with pickle bottles ingeniously camouflaged with gauze, leaves and pins. Dexterously out of chaos and a leaf-spattered sink she achieved order. She liked doing the flowers for she knew what comfort and pleasure they gave to her patients. She understood, too, these men's pride of possession -flowers that came from the home garden or the girl friend were better than any tonic.

Fast on the heels of afternoon tea came preparations for tea. Marjorie busied herself with scrambling eggs, making junket to tempt the sick lad in the annex and stewing fruit for the "appendix".