MORNING SERIAL
‘DON’T know... What do you turn to when the noose is being pulled tight? Lucky charms? This?’
Gwyn’s voice was quiet with rage: he closed his fist over the small, crudely made crucifix.
LOVE AND WAR
‘YOU’RE off to Maymyo.’ ‘Where the hell’s Maymyo?’ ‘Christ knows! But that’s where you’re going. And by train.’ ‘Train?’
‘Yes, ten of you. Some RE’s, and some Ox and Bucks. It’ll give the civilians on the train a bit of confidence. Dacoits took some potshots at the last one.’
‘Nice! How long are we gone for?’
‘It’ll take three or four days to get there. The track’s not that clever. Then bring a train back. It was an old hill station. You’ll have ten days there, out of this heat for a bit. That’s all the gen, as far as I know, OK!’
Rangoon General Railway Station was showing signs of neglect: it was tidy but threadbare, like the AngloIndians that ran it. The train was made up and standing in the station, but the engine had not been coupled.
There were five carriages, painted a flat brown, barred windows without class, and a brake-van with an observation platform.
The Regimental Train Officer came over.
‘You lot in the last carriage with half the RE’s. The Ox and Bucks in the first carriage with the rest of the engineers. Your rations are on the train. But every man must see to his own drinking water. There’s a water bowzer in the brake-van. Right?’
Five men to a compartment, the way they had crossed India eighteen months ago.
The pulsating afternoon heat bounced up off the flagstones of the platform. It was a relief to take their webbing off.
The backs of the seats lifted up to make the two middle bunks, the luggage racks made two, and the seats made the other two.
Their rifles and bandoleers went on the deck, under the seats for safe keeping.
They had two water bottles a man – one tin, British army issue and one skin, Indian army issue – that they tied to the window bars to keep cool.
Boys of Gold by George Brinley Evans is published by Parthian at £4.99 www.parthianbooks.com