Alf stopped himself just in time. He was about to mention how the British had controlled India for the last century and a half but thought it might upset Vijay.
“Can you teach me to fly a plane?”
Now Vijay smiled.
“Yes. In theory I could.”
“Would you?”
They asked the doctor and Captain Schwann the commandant of the now completed P.O.W camp attached to the hospital if they could have some small boxes and some pens. They also borrowed two small brooms. The Germans had agreed, even mocking Alf that if he’d had wings he would surely fly away and never come back. They had watched amused as Vijay had drawn gauges and instruments on the boxes and tied the brushes into position. They used pallet blocks as foot controls. The German guards had stood around and made jokes until Schwann got in amongst them and not annoyed sent them back to their posts. He looked at the mock up then suddenly burst out laughing.
“It will never take off,” he said roaring with laughter as he walked away.
“I must admit,” Vijay said in his heavily accented English “I’m surprised they are not concerned about me teaching you this.”
Alf looked at the cardboard controls. The broom handle joystick. The wooden pedals.
“It does look rather childish.”
“True but the basics are simple in flying. Now if you’re ready we can begin.”
A week later Alf, Johnny, Vijay and many of the others were moved into the temporary tents. They had no electricity or running water. The men cooked for themselves. They weren’t given much. There wasn’t much to go around. Basic living was what Rommel had ordered and that was exactly what they got. They spent their days talking, playing cards and dice, making tea in old petrol cans which gave the tea a disgusting taste. But you really got quite used to it.
Vijay was still on crutches. He had suffered gunshot wounds to both legs and would probably never walk properly again for the rest of his life. He limped around the compound most days. He never gave up hope.
News was difficult to obtain. Every day the German guards would tell the British captives of German achievements to demoralise them. The truth was that the German supply lines were over seventy five per cent successful. Allied shipping in the Mediterranean unable to sink enough of the convoys to make an impression.
“Will we ever get out of here Alf?” Johnny asked.
“Of course we will. The war will end eventually and we are all under Rommel’s protection.”
“Sometimes I feel like just jumping over that barbed wire fence.”
“I’m sure we all feel like that.”
“That corner where the guards can’t see you. Just jump the gate and be gone,” Johnny was saying, more to himself than anyone.
Alf stood directly in front of him. The sun was over Alf’s right shoulder and was dazzling Johnny Larder.
“What corner? What gate? What are you talking about?!
Alf moved to one side. The sun was no longer in Johnny’s face.
“The corner of the guards hut over there by the main gate. I was there for over half an hour the other day. Just standing there minding my own business. The guards were bringing in boxes of supplies and when I moved out a little I realised the guard in the watch tower hadn’t even seen me. He was facing inside the compound and only shouted at me when he turned around.”
Alf was staring at his friend open mouthed.
“He didn’t see me Alf. If I’d known I would have run for it. But look! It’s all flat desert. There is nowhere to run to.”
Alf looked around to make sure that no one had overheard their conversation.
“Show me,” he said in a whisper.
They made their way slowly to the guard hut. Alf curbing his excitement at the news he’d just heard.
“We must keep a distance Johnny,” Alf said putting out a hand to stop Larder as they got near, “We don’t want to arouse the Germans suspicions.”
“What would they do to us if we tried to escape Alf?”
“Hunt us down. Shoot us?”
“Would they hurt those left behind?”
‘Would they?’ Alf asked himself ‘That maniac Wurtz probably would but Schwann? Schwann is a good man.’
“In truth Johnny I don’t know.”
Alf kicked at some loose stones on the ground.
“It’s all speculation anyway Johnny. It is as you said there is nowhere to run to even if you could escape.”
Almost unbelievably the opportunity came two days later.
It was late morning and most of the British captives were inside their tents because of the rain. It had rained hard through most of the night beating down on the canvas covers. Alf was standing in the door flap looking out at the puddles forming on the desert floor. Rain was such a rarity that the P.O.W.’s had gone outside and were standing in it.
The previous afternoon they had stood in it, their faces tilted up towards the heavens. Rain splashing their hair. Hair which for some of them hadn’t been washed in weeks. Many of them had their mouths open. Catching the sweet water or tasting it on their lips. Shirts that quickly became soaked were taken off and thrown down.
Then someone produced a football. It was old and the leather scuffed. Some of the stitching was frayed but it was still very usable. The English soldiers enjoyed a kick about. Then someone suggested a game against the Indians.
It soon became apparent that the Indians knew nothing about football but this didn’t deter them. Alf quickly got four shirts off players to use as goalposts. Next he separated the two sides. English on the left. Indians on the right. Guards in the watch towers looking on.
Next Alf began explaining the game and basic rules. The Indians listened intently, keen to learn. Their game was cricket.
Alf joined his team.
“Take your shirts off,” he said “They’re keeping theirs on. Remember your team are the players wearing the shirts!” Alf shouted across to the captain of the Indian team. He waved back that they understood. Alf’s team were highly optimistic about the outcome of the game.
“Let’s be easy on them.”
His men sniggered quietly. It should be a whitewash.
It was.
Inside ten minutes the Indians were trailing six goals to nil. They wouldn’t give up though. Their enthusiasm was plain to see. The German guards in the towers laughing every time an Indian ended up flat on his face with a mouthful of dirt.
Alf thumped another goal home. His shoulder was aching but he was enjoying the game too much to let it bother him. The Indians weren’t responding and some of them now began to stand and watch the ball, not bothering to try and get it.
Eight nil!
The English were celebrating. The Indians dejected. Burroughs in goal for England called a halt to the game. He hadn’t touched the ball once. Then it was passed back to him and he picked it up.
“Alf it’s a bit one sided.”
“That’s because they’re no good,” Alf replied trying to get the ball from Wilf who quickly hid it behind his back.
“Why don’t we mix the teams up a bit, you know try to make it more even.”
Alf thought about it.
“Oh all right, why not,” ‘it couldn’t hurt’ he decided “But you and I are on the same team,” Alf looked around “Johnny how’s your head?”
“It’s fine Alf I’ll be O.K.”
“If you’re sure. You’re on my team.”
Alf picked the best. Johnny had already scored a hat trick.
Vijay was watching at the sidelines wishing he could play. His legs still too badly injured for him to run. The bones were knitting well though. It was a good sign.
“Vijay,” Alf called “Can you pick a team. We’ll alternate.”
“Yes,” Vijay replied “Gupta, Rasheed, Farooq, you stand over there please. You, you, you, you also,” he said telling off four of the Royal Engineers. When the teams had been picked it did look more even sided.