A Story of War

Nothing of note. I find I am not bad at six-a-side hockey, after my Razmak rink training. Some football, and have got Rangu trained to bring me a Murree beer when I shout to him “My usual!” On an Indian Officers course, which reminds me of Sandhurst, and it prevents me going out on a Brigade day, though they are nothing here. Springheel returned from leave and started boasting to me about Wana in ’21.

Due for T.B. (JDW: The Training Battalion – my father gets wind that he is likely to be posted here next, a dead end posting in his opinion) I suppose, this time next week on the convoy, and for how long I wonder. It puts me still further from the War I reckon.

Had dinner in 1/18 Garwalis mess with Miles the other day. Him I met in Nowshara in December ’38 when visiting 2/11. Paddy Nugent killed, and Jeffries, and I can’t even get a smell of an Italian, let alone a Boche. I seem to be always frustrated. Frustrated to miss that column with Brain & 59th in November 1938, missed Razcol in August ’39, then the RAF, and the other day on the Brigade Day, and those RPs where they all caught it but me. Perhaps I am doomed to become a Babu.

A bit of swimming which is pleasant, and from the Brigade garden comes apricots and just now some battered peaches. Grapes in the garden but pygmies. Some enjoyable bridge the other night with Jolly, Springheel and Smith, 1/18 staff captain. A colossal dust storm, almost a sand storm, arises and for four days visibility is about 1000 feet. Suddenly it shuts down to 200 feet and dust sweeps across the camp, like the rain squalls in Razmak used to. I sleep out for the first time, and wake up under a brown mosquito net. But worth it.