by John King
It was the only get-together Farrell had ever been to and he’d hated every minute of the evening. Farrell had a wife at home trying to recover from the chicken-farmer Himmler’s Final Solution, and he found himself sitting at a table with chicken bones on his plate and three idiots moaning about the communists and how England had fought on the wrong side. He almost blushed remembering how he’d argued with one of the men and pulled him outside and into the car park. Everyone at the event was drunk and they were on their own, left to sort out their differences. Farrell might have been drinking, but his boxing moves came through and he dumped Donald Smith on his arse, then kicked him several times to make sure he didn’t get up in a hurry.
Farrell went back inside as everyone raised their glasses for a toast. Smith was outside propped against a wall, his nose full of blood and two of his teeth on the ground. Half an hour later, Farrell went back out and pulled him to his feet. He dusted him down and apologised. They went into the toilets and Smith washed up. They were drunk and disorderly. Farrell felt he shouldn’t have really done that, but idle talk cost lives. Maybe he’d over-reacted, because Smith was mirroring a growing hatred for communism. Farrell explained things and the man was embarrassed and ashamed. He told Farrell he’d been right to stand up for his wife and knock him down. Smith said he’d forgotten what had happened a few years before. He felt like a fool because he’d seen the same things as Farrell. It ended with a handshake and they went back to their table. Next morning Farrell had a hangover and his wife took him his breakfast in bed. He never went to an army dinner again.
Farrell wondered if Mangler would recognise him. They were so much older now. Rock-n-roll had come and gone and they were still plodding along. Mangler would look at him and see an old man, not the young squaddie fighting his way through Europe. It had been a mad time. He wouldn’t know what to say to Mangler. There was nothing needed saying. None of them could ever experience life in the same way again. What did the chaplain say? In life we are in death. Something like that.
– Come on, no slacking, Eddie called, and Ted, Barry and Bill caught up, entering the building and going up the stairs.
– Left, right, left, right, Ted said, taking the piss.
He’d always been the comedian, making fun of the tradition and regimentation, a thorn in Eddie’s side.
– I hate stairs, Eddie confided. It does something to my right knee. I’m a fucking para, not a mountain climber. I’m used to dropping straight in among the enemy and getting stuck in.
There was the hum of voices coming from the bar to their left, and a couple of men at the entrance to a small museum on their right. Bill looked in and saw various pictures, the first one showing English soldiers sitting on a jeep in the Sahara. Further back there were several tunics. It was a funny thing, but he still had his Uncle Stan’s tunic at home. It was a small red Royal Marine jacket that he’d kept all these years. He would get it out again when he went home. There were some medals as well, and he thought of his own decorations, but he’d leave them in the drawer. He remembered how his wife had loved his medals. It was silly really, but he’d just kept quiet. He didn’t want to upset her too.
The bar was busy with eighty or so men standing in small groups talking. Several welcomed Eddie, and Farrell looked around for Mangler but couldn’t see him. He went to the bar and ordered, pleasantly surprised by the price. It was another kind of working-man’s club, with a central location and framed pictures on the walls. It was nothing particularly grand, but there was a sense of history and a friendly atmosphere. The men in the bar were mainly around his own age, give or take a few years, and he had to admit that it was a nice feeling. He felt at ease. This surprised him as well, because he’d expected something different. He couldn’t really put his finger on what he’d expected. The woman pouring was very nice and handed him his change as she took another order. A couple of men next to him were a lot younger than the rest and probably serving soldiers. They moved and nodded as he passed the drinks back.
He stood next to Ted and Barry and looked around. There were several well-padded armchairs and a couch, some tables with newspapers, and a club feel to the place. It wasn’t posh at all, but felt right somehow. He sipped his pint. Farrell stood with Ted and Barry because Eddie was a big, sociable character and had gone over to talk with some grey-haired men in blazers.
– Not bad, Ted said. Not bad at all. Certainly gets the blood flowing.
Farrell thought he was referring to the pint, but saw that Ted’s eyes were focused on the middle-aged woman behind the bar. She was opening a bottle of light ale and Ted was admiring her action. Farrell supposed she wasn’t bad-looking and had made the effort with her clothes and make-up. He had no desire in that direction, though he of course appreciated beauty, but Ted would always have an eye for the women.
– She’s sagging a bit around the jaw, Barry said. She’s showing her age I’m afraid, and you’re showing yours as well Ted, just by fancying her.
Farrell looked at this man in his seventies and there was no hint of self-mockery. Men were like that. Even when they were old and grey, they still judged women as though they were in the prime of life.
– I hear she speaks highly of you, Ted replied.
Barry nodded and understood.
– So how’s your new place, Bill? Ted asked. You’re nearer me now. You should jump on a bus and come round. It’s nice meeting old mates after so long.
– It’s fine, Farrell replied. I’m nearer the family and I know people locally. It’s okay. It was good to move really. It’s a new start and I cleared through a lot of stuff. It was a new beginning. Not that I was unhappy before, I wasn’t. It’s good to have a change, even when you’re old.
– I’ve lived in the same place since the beginning of time, Barry moaned.
Ted spluttered in his pint.
– You miserable old git, he said. You were there in the Garden of Eden spying on Eve. You’re like one of those vampires lurking in the ivy of the churchyard looking for victims. Barry Dracula all the way from Transylvania.
Bill laughed and Barry nodded, shrugging his shoulders, playing along with his image.
– Come on boys, Ted continued. There’s a world of women waiting for blokes like us. There’s a cheap bar as well.
Farrell spotted Mangler. He looked smaller and less dangerous than he remembered. He watched him through the crowd, talking with another man. Mangler was Dave Horning. He wondered what he’d been doing all these years, but wasn’t drunk enough to go and find out. What if Mangler didn’t recognise him? Worse than that, what if he started talking about D-Day and the advance through Europe? What if he talked about the killing? Farrell tried to remember where Mangler was and when. His head was fuzzy. He knew Mangler wasn’t there when he killed the boy. But he’d had to do it, there was no choice. It was him or the German soldier. He was nervous suddenly, because if he had a view and memory of Mangler then it followed that the same was true for both of them. Farrell saw his medals. The clean ribbons and shining surfaces. The King’s head gleaming. Blood on the ribbons and sweat on his hands. Farrell lifted his pint and took a long drink. He asked Barry how his wife was doing.
– Very well thanks, Bill, Barry said, reviving. We’re going down to Selsey this summer for a couple of weeks in a caravan. We always took the boys to the caravans when they were young. We’ve been going there for years and know people locally now. It’s a lot of fun, and Dick and Bernie are coming down with the kids for a few days.
– How many grandchildren have you got?
– Nine now, Barry said, smiling. Three kids of my own and nine grandchildren. Five boys and four girls.
– Sounds like your kids take after Eddie, Ted noted.
– I don’t mind. The more the merrier, and at least I don’t have to put food in their mouths.
Farrell nodded and wondered what it was like for Ted not having kids. It made all the difference, but he knew Ted liked the ladies too much to settle down. He
’d always had his wits about him, ducking and diving and listening to jazz. When they’d been in the TA together there’d been stories about Ted, told in jest but with an undercurrent of truth. Stories about gunrunning and semi-precious stones, and something about a gambling ring. Farrell didn’t remember exactly, but if Eddie was the up-front English patriot with the bluster, and Barry the moaning family man, then Ted was the slicked back wide boy with a deep soul. Farrell had to admit they were all a bit special somehow.
– I had a child, Ted said, lowering his voice. I was living with this woman for a while and we had a boy. Lovely little thing he was. It didn’t last between us and she took him with her when she left. I found out later that she gave him away.
There was silence and Farrell could see the sadness in Ted’s face.
– What happened to him? Barry asked. Did you ever find out?
Ted’s face brightened again.
– He looked me up a few years ago. I searched for both of them and then when I found out he’d been adopted I put my name down so I was there if he ever wanted to contact me. He’s a great lad. We see each other every couple of weeks. Funny thing is, he was taken in by this family in Neasden and was never very far from me. I didn’t think too much about it at first, because I knew he was with his mum, and I was out and about. It was a time of life when I wasn’t thinking about anyone else but myself. She had problems later with drink and even went on the game for a while. I could’ve done a lot more and she did what she thought was best I suppose. She was always highly-strung, a boozer. My son ended up with a good family, and his new mum and dad loved kids. Those sort of people love children for what they are, not just because they’re related by blood. It worked out in the end.
There was another silence and Farrell didn’t know what to say.
– What happened to his mum? Barry asked.
– She’s dead. Her life got better as she got older. She married a man who looked after her better than the other blokes she’d known. He treated her with respect. She had another twenty-five years until she died of cancer. I haven’t told the boy that his mum was a drunk who went on the game, because it’s a long time ago and it just doesn’t matter. I’ve known working girls through the years and they love and suffer like anyone else. It’s funny, because you look back and think of all the problems you’ve had, and you wonder what all the fuss was about. Whatever I say about her is his truth. Why give the boy sad memories?
Ted stopped and looked at the others. He was a chatty, funny man and didn’t usually open up like this. It was the mention of his son, his pride and joy, that had made him break the carefree image.
– Me and the boy get on a treat. He’s like a mate really. We go and get drunk together and have a meal. He likes the women. Just like his dad. So I’m not the lonely old sod you think.
They laughed now and Eddie came back through the crowd at just the right moment, showing his officer potential. He took charge again and told the boys to drink up. Were they turning into a bunch of poofs? Ted was standing like a fucking teapot. He went straight to the bar and even now he was a big man with a big presence. He ordered and swapped a joke with the barmaid, then started talking to the squaddies nearby. He was exchanging stories and Farrell could see that the soldiers appreciated this former para, one of the Arnhem mob. Eddie was living history. He was a living, drinking, fighting man who’d gone into enemy territory and fought against the odds. Eddie was a one-off and wouldn’t let the sentimentality of old age get a foothold.
– Come on, Eddie, Ted shouted.
Eddie nodded and the younger men laughed.
– We’re dying of thirst over here.
There was a lot of genuine affection among these men that Farrell hadn’t expected. They were all drinking a lot and Barry said they’d be going in soon for the meeting. It was routine stuff and didn’t last too long. Farrell needed a piss and Barry gave him directions to the Gents. He went into a big room, split between a changing area with showers and pegs, and the actual toilets. He saw himself in the mirror and knew he looked a great deal different to how he felt. The years might have passed, but with these blokes he felt like a young man again. It was being with people your own age, who had all the same reference points, just like Ted said. He walked across the empty room, his shoes echoing.
Farrell was almost finished when another man came in. Farrell shook, zipped up and went to wash his hands, then filled the sink and splashed his face with cold water. He was happy and looking forward to the curry, drying himself on a green paper towel. The other man started humming to himself and Farrell looked at him in the mirror. He started at the grey head and knew immediately that it was Mangler. Farrell had kept away from Mangler, knowing that he was safe in the crowd. He looked so different now that if Mangler did look his way he was unlikely to be recognised. Farrell briefly thought about saying hello, but then what, and anyway, he didn’t want to talk about the old days. He hurried out of the Gents. He didn’t want to get involved in all that right now. Maybe after the meeting and the food. Maybe later on he’d sit down with Mangler and have a chat, but he felt uneasy. Maybe another time.
It would be a rough trip through memories that were more than half a century old, the two men shadow-boxing, knowing they could say more. Farrell didn’t want Mangler pulling things apart, didn’t even like him. Mangler was always spoiling for a fight, stirring up trouble, and Farrell didn’t want his ability to remember his own life questioned. With Eddie, Ted and Barry it was okay. He was secure with them. Mangler was different. He was too close.
– Where have you been? Eddie frowned, holding Farrell’s pint.
– I went for a jimmy, Farrell said, taking the glass. Did you want to come as well and shake it dry?
– You haven’t turned queer on us as well, have you? Eddie asked. If you’ve turned funny you’d better give us a warning.
– Eddie needs to know, Ted laughed. Don’t you, Eddie?
– You behave yourself, the corporal growled. We don’t want any poofs around here, do we?
– Barry might, Ted replied.
– Fuck off, Barry said. I’m happily married with children. I reckon Ted’s the one you’ve got to watch.
Ted smiled and blew Barry a kiss. Bill and Eddie laughed as Barry threw a pretend punch at Ted, who made to grab Barry’s balls. Eddie came between them and said no punching below the belt, and at that moment everyone was called to the meeting, Eddie leading his rioting troops towards the hall.
Sitting in the corner listening to the rest of the lads pissing about, Harry wasn’t feeling too clever. He was sitting quiet as a mouse letting the rest of the boys babble away about nothing in particular, leaning his head against the window thinking of that Porsche and the flash cunt driving, about the autobahns of Germany and how Mussolini got the Italian trains to run on time. The countryside outside was green and starting to blur as he nodded his head. He was tired, drifting, thinking about Nicky. He was on a train heading east and she was stuck in Amsterdam listening to her CDs. It was the afternoon and she’d be getting ready to go to work.
It sounded strange putting it like that, Nicky on her way to the checkout. Yesterday he wasn’t too bothered, because she was a prossie and that was her business, and even though she was nice enough he had to meet the lads later on, but now he had the chance to think, killing time. He saw Nicky sitting in her flat alone, with a cup of coffee and a slice of cake, while outside the bars and cafés and markets bustled with life. She was sitting there on the side of her bed stretching those beautiful legs and getting dressed. She’d go outside into the rain and wait for a tram to take her to work, getting off and crossing the river and taking her place with the rank and file. Maybe she’d go and have a drink first, sipping whisky with the other prostitutes, knocking back a double with the greasers and junkies and all the rest of Amsterdam society. She liked her ecstasy and he thought of the Buddha he’d done in Blackpool.
Nicky had a Buddha statue in the corner of her bedroom and a
little shrine for the house spirits. She said it was a Thai tradition. The Buddha was sitting pretty, the gold paint on one of his ears chipped and revealing plastic. Harry saw the coffee and CDs and the bed where he’d sat like another, fatter Buddha. She said she liked big men. She told Harry he was a baby sumo wrestler, except he had hair on his body. She laughed and said she loved his hair. Thai men were hairless. She pulled at his arms and his chest. Nicky was natural and unscarred even though she’d been on the game for years. He’d heard about Thailand and Pettaya, and Pat Pong in Bangkok. He thought of Nicky as a teenager leaving her village and taking the bus south, working in the bars of boom-town Bangkok before moving down to the coast.
Harry was half asleep, with images playing in his head. Nicky was sitting on the lap of a sixty-year-old pharmaceutical executive enjoying a holiday from the wife and family, his pockets full of pills. A fatter bastard than Harry with a deep wallet and some unnatural things on his mind. This man was rich and liberated away from England, running his hands over Nicky’s arse and rubbing her cunt in front of a gang of other men gathered from the civilised West, these decent gentlemen from London, Berlin, Paris, Rome, Vienna, Copenhagen, Washington DC rubbing shoulders with the more obvious nonces. Men from every corner of the civilised world in light cotton shirts and flip-flops watching the straining young boys and girls on stage fucking each other in time to elevator mood music more suited to the Hilton and Holiday Inn. Their crisp twenty-dollar bills were putting a nice commercial gloss on the oldest profession in the world. They were giving generously as the collection tray was passed from left to right. It was another kind of war and Harry was mixing his sex and violence, seeing Nicky as a casualty of war. It was a battle to survive, the East taking everything the West could fire its way. His head jolted and he heard Tom laugh and tell the others that Harry was sleeping like a baby, but then he was gone and Harry was alone with the pictures. He was sitting in a multiplex watching re-run Vietnam films, riding with Jesus Saves painted on his computerised helmet.