MORNING SERIAL
AFTER months in the Delta, where the limit of the horizon was the far bank perhaps a hundred yards away, it was an experience to be moving at a slow but steady pace across the great plain. The Pegu Yoma gave Burma its distinctive fame, as the Rice Bowl of Asia. The rice was still growing. It had not yet taken up all the water in the paddies and was still green. A vibrant living, growing green, streaked with silver strips of sun-bright water. He was glad he had copped for this detail. The faraway hills to the east held a darker part of Britain’s past: the Opium Triangle. For fifty years the British were the biggest drug pushers in the world, and squaddies like him guarded the golden loot. The char wallah had cornered the market on the train. He gathered up their empty water bottles, filled them from the bowser and hung them back on the window bars. ‘Dhobi sahib?’ He was the laundry man too. The last two compartments of their carriage held the ablution block. One for washing and dobbing, the other lavatories. These were three holes cut in the floor, with checkerplate foot blocks and a handrail, so that you wouldn’t be thrown forward on your head, or backwards on your arse if the train came to a sudden stop. The wash basins were a teak trough divided into five separate compartments. The water flushed down from a large tank and was controlled by wooden plugs which acted as taps. The water drained down into another trough and then out through the side of the carriage. They made a short stop at a small place called Pyu. The peddlars were noticeably cleaner than their city brothers. He bought some sliced pineapple and some more sweet-limes. Taff was on stand-to with Turner. This involved sitting in the corridor for the day; LeeEnfield, magazine charged, safety catch on, cotton bandoleer, while occasionally taking a dekko along the train. Children stopped their play and ran towards the train. The soldiers waved to them as they slowly got smaller and smaller until they became tiny specks. CONTINUES TOMORROW