The Hill

by Ray Rigby

  The R.S.M. glowered at Harris. “Have it scrubbed out and throw a few pounds of bug powder around.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Anybody requested to see the Commandant, Staff?”

  “Roberts, sir.”

  The R.S.M.’s mouth hardened. “Roberts — right.”

  “And you can guess why he wants to see him, sir.”

  “I’m not a bloody fool, Harris.”

  “Then — ” Harris hesitated. “Mind if I ask you again, sir. Will you give Williams another job?”

  “Why?”

  “You know what I’m getting at, sir.”

  The RJS.M. nodded his head and thought, ‘I do, Charlie. I bloody do. Williams has put the fear of Christ up you, hasn’t he? You reckon the castle’s going to crumble now, don’t you, and we’ll all be out of work just because Stevens dropped dead? We’ll all be exposed as bloody murderers. Oh yes, I know you, Charlie. You’re a soft article. You’re a soft bloody article and Williams is an iron man and you’re none too clear about how to handle him, are you? You can’t handle him, Charlie. You can’t even handle prisoners ... coming whining to me about Williams ...

  ‘All you can do, Charlie, is tuck the bloody prisoners up in bed and read them fairy stories and give ’em a smoke to calm them down when they get naughty. You can’t keep discipline, Charlie. That’s your trouble. You’ve got too easy a way with you and I’m coming round to thinking that, much as I like you Charlie, you’re bloody useless to me.’ He looked at Harris and made up his mind. “Give Williams another job, eh? I will. I’ll make him Senior Staff on the block.”

  Harris’s face reddened then he blurted out, “I know you’re a bloody marvel but the Commandant decides who’s up for promotion.”

  The R.S.M. smiled. “On my recommendation. As from now you’ll take orders from Williams.”

  Harris had a wild impulse to punch the R.S.M. in the face and put an end to everything, to the stinking job, the taunts and the insults. ‘Christ,’ he thought, ‘Williams here less than a week and he’s promoted over me. What kind of a bloody fool does the R.S.M. take me for? Does he think I’m going to stand for that? Stand for a bastard like Williams giving me orders? Is the R.S.M. going mad? Can’t he smell trouble any more? What the hell does he think the prisoners will do when they hear the good news? We’ve nearly got a mutiny on our hands now. Calm down,’ he told himself. ‘Before he’s much older he’s going to find out the hard way just how wrong he is. Well, let him learn for a change. He’s going to have some real trouble on his hands the way he’s going, and when I think of the way I’ve stood by him. The one bloody man whose loyalty he can count on.’

  Harris seethed with anger again. “Right, sir. If that’s the way you want it.”

  “Not me, Staff. You. Sooner be anybody’s dish rag, wouldn’t you? Filling in any awkward duties thrown your way.”

  “I’d sooner be out of it, sir. Well out of it.”

  “Yes. There’s N.C.O.’s junior to you on establishment getting their rightful pay and credit for the job. You’re getting passed over, Staff.”

  “I’ve been aware of that,” said Harris.

  “You know the answers then. Keep discipline. Put some iron in your orders. Williams hasn’t been here five minutes and I’ll tell you he’s well known.”

  It was warming-up in the cell and Harris felt that he was suffocating. He took his cap off and wiped the sweat from his forehead. He wanted to throw his cap against the wall. Tell the R.S.M. what to do with his bloody job. Explode into violent action but an inner voice, the voice of survival, warned him to remain calm. Have a dig at the silly blind old bastard, he thought, but keep calm. He replaced his cap on his head. “Yes. Williams is well known inside here, sir. Nearly as famous as Crippen.” Then on an uncontrollable impulse. “Request to be posted out of here, sir, and back to my Regiment.”

  The R.S.M. laughed. “You and Burton longing for action and the kiss of death, eh, Charlie?”

  Harris somehow kept his temper. “I’d like a straight answer to a straight request, sir.”

  The R.S.M. smiled and shook his head. “Charlie, you’re past your best. Young kids can sleep in foxholes and march next day and fight next day. But you, Charlie, you’re past your best.”

  Harris saw the R.S.M.’s face through a red film. He stared at the grinning face until his eyes watered. He shook his head and blinked his eyes but the red film was still there. “I could bloody do it again,” he shouted.

  The R.S.M. shook his head, a pitying smile on his lips. “No, Charlie. You’re past your best.” He turned and walked out of the cell.

  Harris glared about him. Sweat trickled down into his eyes and he let out a groan of anger and threw his cap against the wall, then in a mad rage he kicked the prisoners’ equipment and blankets all over the cell, swearing like a maniac as he tried to destroy everything in sight. Then he moved to the open window and leaned his throbbing head against the bars and slowly calmed down. He moved away from the window and looked about him as he picked up his cap. ‘That’s the way a good screw behaves,’ he thought. ‘Williams will put them over the hill for this. Maybe I’d get promotion if I went out of my bloody mind more often. Wreck their cell. Put them over the hill. Double them till they drop. So that’s the secret, is it? Is this what the R.S.M. wants? A lot of bloody maniacs under him? Christ. If this is the easy road to promotion, Williams will be a General in six months.’

  He walked out of the cell feeling a lot better.

  *

  Burton shouted to the prisoners, “Get fell in,” and the prisoners doubled towards him and pushed and shoved and finally got into line facing him. Burton was about to call them to attention and double them away for P.T. when he saw the R.S.M. standing with his arms behind his back watching him. Burton yelled “Attenshun” and slammed to attention facing the R.S.M. “Prisoners from B Wing. All present and correct, sir.”

  The R.S.M. nodded and faced the prisoners. “Any man wishing to see the Commandant, step forward.”

  There was a pause then Roberts marched out of line and halted.

  “Why do you want to see the Commandant, Roberts?”

  “Wish to report, sir, that Staff Williams was responsible for Stevens’s death.”

  An uneasy murmur from the ranks and Burton marched down the line of prisoners shouting, “That’s enough. No talking. No talking in the ranks.”

  The R.S.M. waited until all was quiet again. “Serious charge that, Roberts. I hope you’ve got proof.”

  “I’ll be content to let the Court of Enquiry decide that, sir.”

  “Are you accusing Staff Williams of murdering Stevens?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  An ugly murmur from the prisoners and Burton walked down the ranks again shouting for silence. The prisoners quietened down and listened intently.

  “Any witnesses, Roberts?”

  “All the men in my cell know what happened, sir.”

  “Good. Then with any luck we’ll see Staff Williams face a firing squad. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Roberts?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Roberts.

  “Don’t forget to repeat it to the Commandant then. He’ll be interested to hear you say that.” The R.S.M. looked along the line of prisoners. “Bartlett, double over here.”

  Bartlett doubled over to the R.S.M. and stood to attention in front of him.

  “You saw Staff Williams murder Stevens. Is that right?”

  “Didn’t see nothing of the kind, did I, sir?”

  “Don’t lie to me, lad. You saw him with bloodstained hands, didn’t you now?”

  “No, sir. Didn’t see nothing. Request, sir, to be moved to another cell. Roberts is sending me bonkers. He’s round the bend and wants company.”

  “Request refused. Get back in line.”

  “Sir, please.”

  “Double,” barked the R.S.M.

  Bartlett doubled back.

  The R.S.M. looked at Roberts and smiled. “Witness number one cla
ims you’re out of your mind, Roberts.”

  “Take some proving, sir.”

  The R.S.M. looked towards the line of prisoners again. “McGrath double over here.” McGrath doubled towards him and halted. “You’ve heard Roberts accuse Staff Williams of murder, McGrath?”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Is that all you’ve got to say?”

  “What do you expect me to say?”

  ‘I’m trying to find out the truth, McGrath, and I’m enlisting your help. Now tell me all you know.”

  “About how Williams murdered Stevens, you mean, sir?” The R.S.M.’s mouth hardened. “Yes,” he said softly. “But think before you speak.”

  “If it will ease your mind, sir, I don’t know a damn thing.”

  “I told you to think before you spoke, McGrath.”

  “I did, sir, believe you me.”

  “So you never saw a murder committed, McGrath?”

  “No, sir, but I’ll be committing one if Roberts doesna shut his big gate.”

  “If he’s harmed then I’ll know who to pin it on, won’t I? Double away.”

  McGrath doubled back to the line of prisoners and the R.S.M. turned to Roberts. “That’s two witnesses. Still going through with your accusation, Roberts?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Williams marched from the cells and halted and stood next to the R.S.M. who glanced at him. “I don’t remember sending for you, Staff.”

  “Staff Harris just tipped me off, sir, that there’s some kind of bloody nonsense going on out here.” Williams nodded to the entrance to the cells and the R.S.M. saw Harris leaning against the door with his arms folded. He gestured to Harris with his stick and when Harris was about five paces away from him he gestured for Harris to halt, then turned to Williams. “Yes, Staff. You may find this interesting. Bokumbo. Double over here.” Bokumbo halted facing the R.S.M. “You’ve heard Roberts accuse Staff Williams of murdering Stevens, Bokumbo?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Right Now let’s hear from you.”

  “Williams killed Stevens right enough,” said Bokumbo. “My only worry right now is how the hell we’re going to prove it.”

  An ugly murmur rose from the ranks and a prisoner shouted. “That’s the bloody truth.” Burton ran up and down the line glaring at the prisoners and shouting. “No talking. I said no talking in the ranks. Hear me. No talking.” The prisoners quietened down again and waited expectantly. The R.S.M. turned to Williams. “Did you hear that, Staff?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Serious allegation that is.”

  “He’s lying.” Williams glared at Bokumbo. “I never laid a finger on Stevens.”

  Two,’ thought the R.S.M. ‘We’ve got the nigger as well now, have we? I didn’t think we’d have the nigger as well. It’s getting ugly and something will have to be done and damn quick. Have two and you can soon have three, then four. No, not Bartlett, never Bartlett, and McGrath’s got the needle to Roberts. Two against two and I’ve got the M.O. and the official death certificate and I’ve got Williams, but I’ve got him on my back. Move him? No, I can’t put him on the gate or post him out. Be as good as confessing that I think he murdered Stevens. I’d better keep Harris on as Senior Staff. Well, that’s sure to cheer up Harris anyway ... ”

  He turned to Harris with a friendly smile. “Staff, I want Roberts and Bokumbo on Commandant’s parade. Special Enquiry at 10.30 hours.”

  Harris knew exactly what the R.S.M. meant. “Yes, sir.”

  “And notify the Medical Officer that he’s wanted at the Commandant’s office at 10.30 hours. Seems Stevens didn’t die of sun-stroke. He was murdered in cold blood.”

  ‘Playing silly buggers, are we?’ thought Harris. ‘I’m back in the fold again am I? Well, I’ll have a little game with you, Bert.’ “Is that right, sir?” he said with an innocent grin.

  “Yes, Staff. Tell him to be sure to be there. His professional reputation’s at stake.”

  “Our M.O. sir?” Harris said. “I won’t wear that. It’s well known he can make the lame walk, the blind see and the maimed run over the hill.”

  A howl of laughter from all the prisoners and Burton was up and down the line again yelling at them.

  The R.S.M. waited until order was restored, then looked at Harris again. “What else can he do, Staff?”

  “Ride a bicycle on the sea, no hands,” grinned Harris, “and turn water into wine.”

  Another yell of laughter from the prisoners and the R.S.M. gestured to Burton to leave them alone.

  “Can he raise the dead, Staff?”

  “No, sir,” grinned Harris. “He can’t raise them. But he can lower them.”

  The prisoners roared with laughter again and the R.S.M. watched them with a smile on his face.

  “Staff. I’ve got your vocation placed now. You should have been a music hall comic.”

  “Thank you, sir. Permission to organize a smoking concert for the prisoners.”

  The R.S.M. joined in the laughter this time and shouted above the noise. “You’ve organized too bloody many already, Charlie. Think I don’t know.”

  A wag shouted out from the line of prisoners. “Got a light, sir,” and this was greeted with another yell of laughter. “No, lad,” called back the R.S.M. as he walked towards the line of prisoners, “But I’ve got a pack to put on your back if I catch you smoking.” This remark was greeted with more good-humoured laughter and the R.S.M. halted in front of Bartlett and McGrath. “Stand by for a call, you two, you may be needed though I doubt it. Come on, Harris.” He walked away followed by Harris and when he reached the cells corridor he turned to Harris with a grin. “Trying to get at me, eh, Charlie?”

  “Me, sir?” Harris grinned back at him.

  “You’re useless on discipline but in other ways you’re useful.”

  “What does that mean, sir?”

  “Maybe that cancels out the talk we had a while back.”

  “So I’m still Senior Staff, sir?”

  “I’m giving you another chance, Harris.”

  “And Williams?”

  “Is still on Cell 8.”

  “Sir,” protested Harris, “don’t you think ... ”

  “I know what I’m doing.” The R.S.M. halted and glared at Tom who was working like mad sweeping the floor. “What the hell are you still doing hanging around here?”

  “Sir. Giving the corridor another going over.”

  “Are you,” said the R.S.M., still glaring at Tom, “wearing out Government brooms on useless tasks, eh?”

  “Like to keep busy, sir,” said Tom. “Helps to beat the clock.”

  “There’s a better way.”

  “Yes, sir,” agreed Tom. “When I leave, I’ll stay clear of these places.”

  “See you do.” The R.S.M. walked on then stopped and looked at Tom. “How long’s your sentence?”

  “Life, sir.”

  The R.S.M. took a long and interested look at Tom now and remembered him. “You don’t look as if you’ll live to enjoy it,” he said pleasantly and walked on.

  Tom glared after him and muttered to himself. “Put his old Gran over the hill if she pinched sixpence.” He called out, but not very loud, “Watch it or I’ll do you over.” He moved smartly into a cell when he saw Roberts followed by Williams double towards him. Roberts ran into Cell 8 and swore when he saw the state of the cell. He turned and faced the door and watched Williams stroll in. Williams kicked a pack out of his way. “The R.S.M.’s only got to see this bloody mess. I’ll have you over the hill for this.”

  “Did you do it?” Roberts asked.

  “No. Another Staff here must think you’re a bloody useless lot. So you had a word with Bokumbo, did you?”

  “What are we talking about?”

  “You know. You put him up to it.”

  “No, you did.”

  “Roberts, do you think you’re going to get away with it?”

  “I should be asking you that.”

  “Want to kn
ow what the outcome will be? There’ll be a Court of Enquiry and I’ll be exonerated.”

  “Williams, I’m counting on having a few Government officials poking their noses around this dump before I’m finished.”

  Williams moved further into the cell. “Now let me tell you something. If you flap that big trap of yours in front of the Commandant and he decides to pass the can you’ll be in no fit state to give evidence.”

  “I’ll manage to get there.”

  “You’ll be so punch drunk they won’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

  Roberts leaned against the wall and folded his arms. “You’re getting nervous, aren’t you, Williams.”

  “You’re the nervous one. It’s on your records. You dirty bloody coward.”

  “Like to prove it, Williams?”

  Williams looked at Roberts from head to toe and smiled. “You want me, don’t you. You fancy your chances.”

  “You make a move and I’ll drop you.”

  Williams moved to the door and looked up and down the corridor. “Not a bad idea. Just you and me, eh?” Roberts crouched ready, his fists clenched and Williams grinned at him. “Bit impatient, ain’t you?” He nodded along the corridor. “There’s a solitary at the end of the corridor. A padded cell it is. This used to be a loony bin before the Army took it over. Did you know that?”

  “It still is,” Roberts said.

  “Yeah, since you joined us. Fancy a padded cell? I’ll lock us in.” Williams grinned again. “Just us two.”

  “Let’s get started.” Roberts walked out of the cell and along the corridor and Williams followed him. At the end of the corridor Williams paused outside the solitary and grinned at Roberts. “Wait here.” He walked to a door marked Staff Room and opened it and said, “Got the solitary keys,” and a voice answered, “yes,” and Roberts had a glimpse of two Staffs drinking tea before the door closed.

  Roberts looked at the solitary cell then peered into the spy hole. There was no window in the cell but a bright light guarded by a heavy iron cage was placed dead centre in the very high ceiling. The floor was thick grey rubber and the walls were padded and covered with grey rubber. Roberts turned as he heard footsteps behind him and saw Williams holding up a bunch of keys.