This is one of those periods when the "Funny Things which Happened On the Way to the Theatre" are more interesting than the show itself. First, Samungli: then a quiet little airfield from which we did hardly any flying (it is now an important PAF base). There was nothing for us to do, and the fact that we were about five inches of boost short at full bore, because of the altitude, meant that a VV would have trouble enough getting off the ground "light". With 1500 lb, it would be problematic -
AFAIK, nobody tried. 8 Sqdn. were the only ones on site and, I believe, would stay there until November when they were to be re-equipped with the Spitfire XIV. Meanwhile it would be "
dolce far niente", and I was quite partial to that.
Things did not start too well. During our long train journey, I'd taken off my watch and looped the strap round the top of the name card holder frame on my bunk. On arrival at Quetta, in the bustle of packing and getting my kit off, I'd forgotten the watch and got to the end of the platform before I remembered. I raced back - I can't have been away more than a minute. But in India that was more than enough. It was an expensive mistake.
Hardly had I got unpacked and settled in, than I went down with malaria for the second time. I blame the train. It is not practicable to rig up a mossie net on a train bunk, and as the air is in constant motion round a moving train, the mossie has no chance to settle anyway.
But we had been stationary for hours at a time, often at night. Now there are all sorts of malaria, but in our day there were simply two: "Benign Tertian", and "Malign Tertian" (BT & MT). The first is bad, the second worse. BT is usually treatable in SSQ (or even in your own basha). This time I had MT and it put me on my back in a military hospital in Quetta. I honestly thought I'd "had it". (There is also a rare "Cerebral" malaria, with a high mortality rate, and another insect-borne disease: "Dengue" fever, a sort of "Malaria-lite", much milder, which lasts about a week).
When I was on my feet again, the first priority was a new watch. This was not straightforward. They were very scarce, and to ensure that they went only to deserving characters, you had to get a Certificate of Authorisation from a magistrate to begin with. A modest "bung" to the Clerk helped things along, I had my "chitty", and I presented myself at the "West End Watch Company" which had been warmly recommended to me. I spotted a small "military" style "Bijou", very plain, in a massive stainless steel case. It was ticketed at Rs150. That was quite a lot - about five month's salary for an Indian doctor - or a week of my pay. It would be about £12 then, say £600 today.
Well, I thought, I'll start at Rs100 and see how far down we can get (the shop
was a cut above a bazaar stall). To my surprise, the salesman wouldn't shift - it was take it or leave it. "What is the world coming to?" I thought, but finally had to capitulate. I had to have a watch - and he knew it. I shelled out the Rs150 with very bad grace. It was about three years before I found I was running around with a Longines on my wrist. It is there yet, and will be with me to the end, I trust.
Quetta was a pleasant place, it was full of military units and a prestigeous Staff College. There was a military open-air swimming pool - a rare treat - with a little stall where they turned out egg-and-tomato sandwiches made in Heaven. An egg is an egg the world over, but those tomatoes...... Luscious, sweet, flavoursome, juicy, paper thin-skinned.....what a contrast with today's supermarket armour-plated offerings, tasteless, bred only to last for ever on the shelf.
At Samungli I had an experience which I am sure has been aired more than once in fiction, but which I can assure you actually happened to me. One of our airmen had been charged with the theft of some welfare stores, it was a serious matter, the case was being considered for Court Martial. I had been detailed to take the Summary of Evidence, which is the necessary preliminary.
I had got my witnesses available and ready to give evidence, I had my chap in front of me, and was obliged by law to ask him whether he required the witnesses at the Summary to give their evidence on oath. In almost every case the accused declines, for this means that any evidence
he will give will also be on oath, and he does not wish to add possible perjury to the list of his alleged crimes.
But in this case, the accused did so require - I think he'd been "got at" by some barrack-room lawyer - so I had to find a Bible. I knew where one was, on a shelf in the Orderly Room. I adjourned the proceedings and went to get it. It was a dusty, cheap affair, bound in black cloth, and had seen long service. All the lettering had worn off the cover and spine, but it would do. I riffled the pages. It was a dictionary.
I had a short struggle with my conscience, and my conscience lost. My witnesses all solemnly swore on this dictionary (I took good care to grab it back each time the moment the last words had been spoken). As most of the witnesses contradicted each other, and some were manifestly lying, the result was a bit of a dog's dinner. Higher Authority binned the Summary with some barbed remarks about the quality of its preparation, and the charge was dropped.
I sometimes wonder about the legal implications of my peccadillo. Would such an oath bind in Law ? After all, "
mens re" is the thing, isn't it? If the witness
believes he is taking the oath, isn't that enough? It's a nice point. Could a charge of perjury stick? And what could I be arraigned on - "Perverting the course of Justice?" - (and then there's always "Conduct Prejudicial !" - "Sacrilege?" (don't you have to have a Consistory Court for that?)
I was all set for a pleasant, not too strenuous autumn. The RAF seemed to have forgotten all about me.
No such luck !
Goodnight, chaps,
Danny42C
No rest for the wicked !