CHAPTER 5
Dinger was absolutely right in his guess. Two days after their arrival, as they were just starting to make their huts their own places rather than a temporary shelter, the Germans split the morning Appel. The same jackboots-and-peaked cap officer was on his platform with the interpreter, but this time they were accompanied by a small group of men in civilian jackets and baggy trousers. Bell’s whisper was just loud enough for Jim to catch.

“Them’s fucking deppities, or I’m a Mackem”

Jim just nodded, as the popinjay shouted on and on, and then the interpreter took the lead.

“Look to your left! There are wagons! If your name is called, you will go to them, immediately. If you do not hear your name, remain at your stand. Do not pretend. We will make sure of all names”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jim caught Dinger’s head drop, and just as predicted, that man’s name was one of the first to be called. About a fifth of the prisoners were left after the others had been called out, and Jim realised that if nothing was done, there would be panic. He drew a deep breath, then gave the command.

“Close up those ranks! Smartly, now. You think you’re bloody mobile baths unit or something?”

As the men hurried into position, he deliberately turned his attention forward, where the man he was thinking of as the Popinjay stared hard at him before offering the slightest nod of recognition, then saying something to his interpreter. Before anything else could happen, the customary shouting came from the left, as the chosen many were yelled onto the trucks. Dinger’s ‘Deputies’ climbed into a couple of the odd German military cars, the ones that looked to Jim as if they were made from cast-off tin roofing material, and then a convoy of vehicles left the compound.

He had a moment of dread, of wondering if he would see the lads again, but the little bantam cock bastard was drawing himself up again, ready for more words, and Jim found himself wondering if the hoit could ever manage a word in a normal speaking voice. The interpreter was standing easy, though, waiting until the camp gates were firmly shut once more. As the last fastening was dropped into place, he looked down at his feet for an instant as he drew breath, and then started another speech, this time without referring to the more senior man.

“Your friends, they will return later. This day, it is to make them familiar. Tomorrow the same, then it is work. You work well, you work fairly, we feed you well, fairly. You are not making a holiday here!”

Another breath of preparation.

“Those on the next list will move to left on hearing a name! Armstrong!”

Before he could move on, a voice called out from behind Jim.

“Which fucking one, Jerry?”

Bracing himself for the backlash, Jim was astonished to see the young officer laughing.

“Yes, yes! Is funny! I make it easy, no? Armstrong, every one, all six, to your left”

Jim relaxed again as the roll call continued, right up to the point where he realised that the only man left with him was Noel Wardle, a lance corporal from another company, and:

“Wardle, Noel!”

Jim let his head turn to stare at the body of men that a number of German guards were shoving into a column of fours, and then turned back to the little stage, only to see the interpreter and the popinjay crossing the parade ground towards him. What had he done? As the column of men were marched out of the gate, the two officers reached him, stamping to a halt and snapping a Hitler-style salute. Jim stamped to his own position of ‘attention’ and kept his eyes fixed forward as the senior man muttered once more to the mouthpiece, who asked, in a puzzled voice, “You do not give a salute?”

“SIR I HAVE NO HAT SIR!”

“Ah. This is the English way, then”

He said something in German to the little man, who nodded in understanding before saying something else. The younger man actually clicked his heels and bowed his head in reply, then visibly relaxed.

“The Oberst asks what is your species? Oh, please stand at the easy, Sergeant. Is that the right word?”

“Sir stand at ease and stand easy are different sir”

“Then please to the easier one, the relax. Your species?”

“Sir I do not understand sir. Permission to ask a question sir?”

“Ah. Your men? We have some coal places for the men with wagons, and the others, we have fields, food to gather. A farming, yes? Your species?”

“I am a man, sir. Human”

The little man started to laugh, and as he did so, Jim noticed the crinkles around his face. The surgery had been good, but as the skin stretched, the scars were evident. It looked like some splinters had caught the man in the face, and as Jim watched, he realised that one eye was not moving, and a slightly different colour to the other. The ‘Oberst’ was quick to say something else to his minion, and the man almost blushed before making his question clearer.

“No! Not what you are. Your papers, they say you are a man who keeps animals for sporting. Are you for dogs, or for swine, or for the birds?”

“Oh! Grouse, pheasant and deer. Sir!”

“Not the swine, then? The wild one?”

Suddenly, Jim understood that the older man was sounding him out as a possible gamekeeper. They had cleared out all the miners, and the rest of the boys had been marched off for what was probably agricultural labour, but Jim had been kept back, and the only possible meaning for ‘papers’ was whatever that two-faced snake Albach had prepared. He forced himself to relax. They might be officers, but he had done enough stamping and bracing for the day, and they weren’t his officers, but the enemy.

“No, sir. We call them wild boar. Not in England. Grouse and pheasant, for shooting parties, and I would lead clients in stalking roe”

“Bitte?”

“Roe. Small deer, antlers like this”

He used his hands to mimic a roebuck, and the scarred man nodded.

“Ja! Reh”

Now that he had made a link, Jim found himself wanting to give more info, to cooperate, and he made an effort to pull himself back. That had been Albach’s skill.

“I went to Scotland with Dad, my father, a few times. We went with the Owner, helped him with some red deer stalking”

The Oberst looked pleased at that.

“Rothirsch?”

“Pardon, sir?”

The interpreter confirmed that yes, they all meant red deer. Once more, the scarred man said something to his companion, and then both laughed out loud, the interpreter explaining with a grin.

“Herr Oberst Ritter von Lechau said that he has a use for you, especially if you know the ways of unwanted animals… your word is? Foxes, crows, martins?”

“Vermin, we call them, sir”

“Vermin, yes. But he says that you do not expect we give you a gun for the work!”

Once more, there was a grin, and Jim realised he actually liked the two men, especially when the interpreter added the final enticing comment.

“And if it is good meat we are hunting, then the English saying, yes? Do not bind the mouths of kine that tread corn. Kine, that is?”

“Kie, we say. Er, cows. Cattle”

“Cattle, or those who work for the hunt, yes. Not to bind the mouths. You may go, Sergeant—no. One thing more. Littmann!”

A soldier trotted across with a cardboard document case, stamping to attention in front of the three of them in what was becoming a boringly repetitive way for Jim.

“Ja, Herr Hauptmann!”

The officer took the folder, raising an eyebrow to Jim.

“I am Hauptmann—Captain, you say---Weber. Until we receive more under-officers, you will be camp leader. These are the rules for you, in English. We have the Red Cross to watch for us, and they will receive briefs---letters from your men. They will also deliver extra supplies. That may include gifts of your men families. In return, you will examine the letters. You will remove what we say. We will confirm you do it right. You do right, we let your men’s parcels come. That is all”

Jim snapped back into ‘attention’, the hint clear, and the two officers saluted him, this time in the normal military style, before strolling off back towards the Command hut. Jim made his way to his own bunk, and began working down a surprisingly long list of prohibited words, phrases and revelations. The lads were going to love him.

He didn’t realise he had been asleep until the sound of boot nails on the concrete steps outside his hut jerked him awake, along with the mutter of Northumbrian accents. Dinger was one of the first into the long bunk-filled space.

“Fucking Jerry bastard fucking shithole! Call that shit fucking COALS?”

He was clearly part way through a long rant, and Jim guessed it had stalled only for want of the fresh audience he was now offering.

“BELL! SHUT IT!”

Pause for breath to allow the man to think, then soften it.

“Gently, lad. The Jerries will be listening, remember”

“Sorry Sarge”

“Not to worry, lad. Explain?”

“Ah, shite, just what I expected. Pits, aye? But they’re shite, and what they call coal, I’ve wiped better stuff off me boots at the dog track. They took us down, showed us what they wanted, and it’s going to be hewing. That’s all they want us for, and it’s not even like there’s a good seam anywhere to cut, it’s all soft stuff. Lads are after some planks and that, make some crackets to keep our arses dry. Aye, not the driest of places, either. What happened to the rest of you after we went?”

“Ah, everyone else is off to pick vegetables in fields or something”

“And, er, Sarge? You?”

“I have to do the admin here. We’re promised mail, they say, and parcels, through the Red Cross”

That brought a loud cheer from the whole hut, and Dinger was shaking his head happily.

“Bugger a hell, Sergeant Allen, but didn’t we need some fucking good news at last! What about you? All camp work?”

“Er, no. That Albach was a sneaky sod”

“I know that!”

“Yes, you do. And you were absolutely right”

Dinger stared at him, Jonty behind him nodding slowly before he added his own comment.

“It’s that banty cock with the shiny boots, isn’t it? Got some land somewhere he’s stolen from some Polish Tsar or whatever they call them?”

Jim nodded.

“He sounds as if he’s a keen shooter. Probably going to be deer, but no idea as yet. Hinted that I might pick up some extra treats from any bag I help with. If I do, I share”

Dinger laughed the loudest, and then echoed the Colonel and Captain.

“I bet they don’t let you have a bloody gun, though!”