Chapter Four
‘Left a bit.’
‘No, it’s right a bit.’
‘It’s not! It’s more to the left.’
Sam put the knife down and looked at the three men around him who were practically dribbling at the sight of the tinned meat roll he was about to share out. ‘Stop crowding me. You’ve given me the job so just let me do it.’
Someone grumbled, another suggested they gave him some more room and the group reluctantly retreated a little.
Sam picked up the knife, inhaled deeply and began to slice the processed meat again.
Every man’s gaze burned upon his hands. Food had become the highlight of their day and consumed their thoughts until most conversations led back to what they did eat, could eat, would eat if things were different.
For now, it was two slices of bread for breakfast and tea, and at noon one ladle of watery potato soup.
If it were not for the Red Cross packages, they would have all starved to death long ago.
Unfortunately, the latest delivery was smaller than most and four men had to share each package.
A great debate on how it was shared followed, but after a vote it was agreed that the contents of each tin would be shared out as soon as it was opened.
The timing of that tin being opened was also voted upon.
The prisoner who shared the contents had the power that could start grudges or make the closest of friends.
Sam did not relish the role when yet another vote nominated him.
Each prisoner took their portion and returned to their bed to eat it. Only Tubs remained.
‘Don’t vote for me next time,’ said Sam as he wiped the knife clean.
Tubs smiled. ‘What? And let you miss out on all that power?’
‘I’d rather not have it.’
Tubs jerked his plate towards him. ‘To be honest, I was hoping you’d give me a bigger slice.’
Sam glanced up at his friend. ‘You know that would be the end of me, don’t you?’
‘Yes, I know. That’s the reason I wanted a bigger slice.’
‘Charming.’ Sam returned the knife to the guard. ‘Could it be because you’re greedy?’
Tubs feigned hurt. ‘Harsh words. And I thought we were friends.’
Sam broke into a smile. ‘So did I!’
‘Tinned meat can turn a man insane in here. Seriously, though. You did a good job. I wouldn’t want the job of cutting equal portions.’
‘So I can’t vote for you next time?’
‘If you do, I’ll eat your share.’
They sat down together and each stared at his slice. It wasn’t thick but it was a feast in their eyes.
‘This reminds me of home.’ Tubs tentatively touched it with his finger.
‘Although I wish it was cake or one of Mother’s buns.
Mother used to do her baking when I was at school.
Every Tuesday and Thursday.’ He smiled at the memory.
‘On those days I’d rush home from school, open the door and just stand for a few seconds and inhale the smell of freshly baked buns.
Makes me feel warm inside just thinking about it.
Home. Mother. Safety. The anticipation of a full belly. ’
‘Yeast buns and cold milk,’ mused Sam. ‘That’s what was waiting for me after school. Still warm from the oven.’
‘And then it was time for a game of football on the road outside. By dark there would be about ten of us. And I don’t think there was one boy among us who could kick the ball straight.
But it didn’t matter. We had a great laugh.
And the things ten-year-old boys can get up to!
’ Tubs whistled. ‘It’s a miracle I didn’t kill myself. ’
‘I was climbing trees and making tree houses after school. First met Moira when I was ten. Seems a world away now.’
‘Did you fancy her right away?’
‘She was the first girl who really spoke to me. In that interested kind of way. She suddenly appeared in class one day and immediately stood out from us rural kids. Clever. Nicely dressed. Fresh faced. She told the class that her family came from Kent. None of us knew where Kent was but it didn’t matter.
She settled in quickly but her parents never did.
They often talked about leaving Cornwall and returning to Kent.
The threat that she would one day leave the school, and me, was always there. ’
‘Well? Did you?’
‘What? Fancy her from the start?’ Sam thought for a moment and smiled. ‘I was too much in shock. All I remember was thinking a girl is talking to me and it scared the heck out of me. But yes, I fancied her from the first day I saw her.’
Tubs gave him a conciliatory pat on the back. ‘It’s not easy being a boy.’
‘It’s not easy being a man.’
They stared at their thin slice of meat in silence.
‘Well, we can’t stare at it all day. Time to tuck in?’
Tubs nodded. ‘Time to tuck in.’
Silence descended as they slowly, delicately, ate their portions.
It was the only time they were quiet, mused Sam as he savoured his slice.
Life was tough but it could have been worse.
The camp commandant seemed a decent man and was not overly strict.
The camp had been basic at the start but had improved over time.
There was now a library, a monthly show put on by the prisoners, cards to play with, football and boxing matches to take part in and regular Red Cross parcels of dried milk, soup rations, cigarettes, chocolate, tinned food and letters from home.
Those letters were precious — the warm words of love and comfort reassured the recipient he had not been forgotten.
He thought of Moira and wondered if she realized how much they meant to an imprisoned man.
As she settled to sleep at night, did she ever truly grasp how much her Dear John letter had hurt him?
It was almost a year after his capture before he had been able to write and reassure Moira that he was alive and well. But her reply was not the joyous, celebratory response he had expected, nor the one he’d desperately waited for.
Dear Sam,
Thank you for your letter. Your family must be so pleased to hear that you are alive and well, as I am. They have been so worried about you and could not accept that you were dead. This war has devasted so many families so I am glad that they, at least, can have some respite from their agony.
Unlike your family, I believed that the words ‘deeply regret to inform you’ and ‘missing in action’ meant that you were most likely dead.
It broke my heart, truly, but then I made a decision to move on with my life.
I have met someone. He is a good man, Sam.
I think you would like him. I am telling you this as things are no longer the same between us.
I am engaged to be married, Sam. I hope you understand.
From your dear friend,
Moira
He didn’t reply at first, concerned that he would spill every agonizing feeling of betrayal onto the page and live to regret it.
When he eventually replied, he was polite, understanding, and expressed a wish to meet again once the war was over.
Moira’s reply took far too long to arrive, but he was heartened to read that she would not refuse to see him if he ever returned home.
However, the rest of the letter was harder to read.
‘Life was so difficult and so lonely on my own,’ she wrote.
You lived with your parents, Sam thought.
The new man in her life was an injured soldier who was so ‘kind and supportive’ and had ‘fought bravely’.
It seemed this fellow had made Sam’s fiancée’s life ‘more bearable’ while he was away.
‘That’s good of him,’ Sam had muttered under his breath as he’d retreated to his bed to read the rest. The wooden frame of the bunk gave him a little solitude.
He had felt sick as each word of praise for the man who had taken his place stabbed at his heart.
Such letters could demoralize a man, and that was a slippery slope he wanted to avoid while he was a prisoner.
He had not written again, but with plenty of long-drawn-out hours to fill, Moira still lingered in his thoughts over the years.
The way she had ended their engagement felt unjust and he could not help wondering if there was more to it.
Why had she given up waiting for him so easily when other missing soldiers’ sweethearts had not?
He needed to speak to her again, face to face .
. . even if that was only to exchange a few simple pleasantries and a formal goodbye.
Their relationship had started in childhood; they’d been teenage sweethearts and had ended up as lovers planning to marry.
Damn it! He’d left Cornwall to be with her when her family had moved back to Kent and wanted her to go with them.
It deserved a better ending than this. Perhaps Moira would realize what she had thrown away if he was standing in front of her.
The rumour in the camp was that the tide had turned in the war.
The opportunity of seeing her again now seemed a very real possibility.
Perhaps there was hope for them after all . . .
Tubs had long finished his meal and, checking that the guard was looking elsewhere, produced a copy of the Prisoner’s Pie from under his mattress. This was a newspaper compiled, edited and printed by the prisoners themselves. He covertly passed it to Sam. Sam slid it under his own mattress.
‘I’ll read it later. Much news in it?’
Tubs knew what news he was referring to.
A couple of prisoners had built a transistor radio from parts given to them from an obliging but unsuspecting guard.
They were now able to listen to the World Service, albeit in secret, and share news from the outside world among the prisoners.
It had been a great morale boost and, since D-Day six months earlier, had given them hope.
However, such news was passed by word of mouth, not in print where it could be confiscated.
‘Just the usual short stories, crosswords and articles.’ Tubs glanced at a nearby guard. ‘Let’s take a walk,’ he added.