A Story of War

I am up and walking about for two days now. Captain Fowler comes up, and says he is treating a Khassadar who got shot in the Razani shooting the other day. On the second attempt he got a bullet out of the Khassadar’s foot, also some gravel and small stones, so reckons it must have been a ricochet. Pallot, who is acting adjutant up here, tells me there passed through his hands a request from 1/12 for a report on me. Lt Col Lockhart actually. I had thought that was a dead letter now. However, quien sabe? Major Allan got hit by a jerry whilst playing rugger in the club, and I believe there were one or two other casualties too.

First day on normal diet, of fats. Saw Tundan in the bazaar. He was seen in Razani with an armband with BF on it; when questioned, so the story goes, he said “Brigade Photographer”. He says he can’t publish photos in the press, without getting Brigade’s sanction which, he says, takes a month, by which time the photos no longer have any news value. Small hopes for me; there might be court martials and all. I reckon i’m not yet bile-free, as there are deposits about midday. There is much rain lately, especially at night, so perhaps the snow is over, although Irving says it isn’t warm here until April. District HQ moves up here, as in D.I.Khan it goes up to 120 degrees. The wind here is known colloquially as the “Sting of Death” and it certainly lives up to its reputation.

I’m sick of the one picture, framed, squatting on the mantlepiece – “The man who missed on the first tee at St Andrews”.